Frozen in Time
by Shadow Chaser
Summary: An assassin out of time, with no memories, frozen in time, tries to remember who he is - an Avengers-centric story. (Set after "Coterie") - "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Author's Notes:**

This is a side story to my _Trickster Universe_. You do not have to read the other stories to get this one, but some of the events that have happened in those stories make more sense in this one. This is also considered a post-_Winter Soldier_ fic and will be heavily Bucky and Steve-centric. The other Avengers (including Hawkeye) will show up later.

**Timeframe:**

Set one year after the events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. Two years since _The Trickster: Coterie_.

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 1_

He knew that they were looking for him, searching far and wide with facial recognition and patterns gathered for the last seventy or so years. Every person had a pattern, a footprint if you will, a way of doing things that defined them. His was no different and he knew that – his trusty Soviet-era styled sniper rifle that he used to take out most of his targets. His sub-machine gun and his knives for hand-to-hand combat when the need arose. That was his pattern, his marker. His silvery-arm was the surest sign, a giant red star marked on his upper arm – a giant target that many had tried to hit. Some succeeded, but the material it was made out of – vibranium-kevlar polymer if the brief memories, images, were correct – almost indestructible save for the application of electricity fields.

The best course of action his training taught him was to lay low with the populace. There were brief flashes of images filled with people in uniforms, fatigues, in lab coats, some speaking Russian, others speaking German, French, Chinese, Urdu, and other languages he knew the translations to, but could not place.

The best place was New York City, the city where no one would even be bothered to look because of so many incoming and outgoing persons. It was the easiest city closest to Washington D.C. that he theoretically could have gotten transportation to the soils of other countries. Los Angeles was out of the question as the city grid was too wide, too spread out. Chicago had been under consideration, but his only option was to either fly out – which he could not do since his handlers had always given him his passports and he did not know how to acquire one from their black market contacts – or head into Canada. Toronto and Montreal had been options from there, but the easiest recourse and action was to head to New York.

That had been eleven months ago. One year since he had rescued the man in the spangled outfit who had saved him; called him "Bucky" and showed mercy when he knew that he would not have done the same if their positions had been reversed in the falling remnants of the Insight Helicarrier.

Why he had remained in New York for eleven months since his arrival was a mystery to him, after all, he could have gone elsewhere. His own searches were limited, especially with his spotty memory. He knew that the procedure that had wiped his memories each time had been done somewhere in Washington D.C., but that was not an option. A hazy memory of a face, a name that slipped out of the liquid grasp of his memories, but a face nonetheless he somehow knew could help him regain some of his memories, was just there. But he did not know how, or who, or where to start his search.

It had only been two months ago that he had a lucid dream of the man that had been wearing the spangled outfit, but this time in civilian clothing. He had been sketching something, drawing with fine-tuned strokes of a charcoal pencil, a beautiful rendition of Central Park. That was when he knew he needed to find the spangled man again, that this man could help him draw out the face and for him to use it to find his target – to regain his memories.

But approaching the spangled man was another story. He had taken to watching his coming and goings, having found out with some judicial searches of internet cafes – paid for by money pick-pocketed from tourists – that the spangled man's name was Captain America. It was the silliest name, and he vaguely remembered giving the man a leveled look, but it was in a wooded area that smelled of mortars, soot, and ozone burnt things. Somewhere that was not New York City nor the United States for that matter, a part of him was sure of it.

The media reported that the Captain resided in Avengers Tower, having taken pictures of him coming in and out in his uniform and occasionally in civilian clothing as Steve Rogers. But they could never really get a clear look at him since he left by the tower's helipad and secret tunnels on his motorcycle. He had taken to watching the tower at random times, making sure that the Captain was there and sure enough, had seen him enter and exit via the aforementioned areas. The name Steve Rogers had produced a new set of brief memories that were so jumbled and intense enough that it had left him shaking and unexpectedly crying. He had not understood why he was crying, only that he knew they were not sorrowful tears, but joyful ones. It also gave him headaches, but the headaches were nothing new – something he was aware of every time he contemplated the slippery images in his mind.

He knew him, knew Steve Rogers, that much he was sure of, considering how prominent his memories were of the man, even if it was just brief flashes.

But he also knew Steve Rogers as his target. Remembered fighting him on the Helicarrier, an enemy, someone he _had_ to kill because it was ordered. He flexed his fingers a little as he suppressed the killer urge to hunt him down and felt the bloom of a headache, right behind his eyes. He had leeway with his targets, especially if there were bodyguards or others trying to hurt him, but his targets were always seared into his mind. His handlers told him it was beneficial in a way that with his mind empty of memories, he would be able to devote his whole being to hunting down his target.

And it was true.

He shook his head a little and lowered the small camera he had nearly crushed in his metallic hand. It was time.

He had been staring up past the iconic roof of Grand Central Station to where the newly rebuilt Stark Tower – or rather now called Avengers Tower – was for the last fifteen minutes or so. He had been occasionally taking photographs, acting like a tourist, but he knew that the police would begin to get suspicious of his presence if not already. The busy ebb and flow of pedestrian traffic at least allowed him some time to gather himself as he pocketed the camera and stepped into the wash of pedestrians.

He made his way across, adjusting his worn baseball cap that had been given by a street hawker months ago. He joined the line of tourists outside of Avengers Tower who were waiting for tickets to see the Stark Industries Museum inside as well as the special exhibit on the Avengers. He did not have to wait long and soon got in, picking up his complimentary earbuds and listening device for the interactive part of the tour. It was similar to the technology provided by the Smithsonian's Captain America exhibit in D.C., but this one seemed to have more Stark Tech incorporated into it. He noted children and adults gasping as their devices started projecting a holographic image of a miniature Howard Stark talking to them.

He resolutely did not look down as Stark also started to talk to his device, the earbuds hanging around his neck instead, covered by the neckline of his hoodie jacket. He thought he remembered seeing the same man, a much younger Howard Stark laughing, dressed in three-piece suit, surrounded by women after the failure launch of a car that hovered in the air. He blinked, feeling the headache move further back along his skull and shook his head to clear the image from his mind.

Instead, he pretended to be staring at some of the exhibits as he discreetly looked around, spotting cameras, exits, and what was definitely places that were off limits to civilians and tourists.

After about twenty minutes of walking up and down a few exhibits, he moved towards one of the guards, grabbing his earbuds like he had been pulling them off his ear. "Bathrooms," he asked, keeping his voice polite and curious. It sounded like dragging a metal chair across a polished floor in his opinion, but he had not had the need to talk to anyone for the past year.

"Outside the ticket booth, but if you're looking for one on this floor, it's next to the exhibit on the prototype Arc Reactor and to your left," the guard sounded like he had pointed many tourists towards the bathroom today.

It would have been polite to thank the guard, but the words rang foreign in his mind before he headed towards the direction the guard pointed out. He kept an eye on the cameras as he walked and entered to find that there were no cameras near the stalls or urinals, per privacy laws. One was located in a shadowy corner, but he noted that its path did not track towards the general area. He took a quick inventory of the restroom before making his move.

There were only five other men in the restroom along with two children whom were washing their hands. He drew out a small coin-like object, a gift the infamous Black Widow had left on his arm when he had been targeting her, and activated it before flicking it casually with his thumb. The results were immediate as the lights flickered briefly before plunging into darkness.

Surprised yells as well as cries echoed in the restroom as he used his enhanced speed and strength to open the grating into the air ducts, climb into it, and closed it as seconds later the lights returned. He held his breath and stilled himself as he heard some of the guards come in to see what the commotion was about, but soon left after muttering about the arc reactor under the tower having a power surge. There was only enough charge left on the electrical disc after a majority of it had been used to disable his arm, but he was glad that it worked.

He turned, his fine-tuned senses masking his movement in near-silence and started to crawl. Shimmying and lifting himself up through the various entryways, fans, and turns, he let his instincts take over as he slowly made his way up. Though he had never studied the layout of the Avengers Tower, he knew he was headed in the right direction. He did not know where the instinct came from, but supposed it was like the same instinct that drove him to place a bullet where he knew his target would be hundreds of meters away.

After several minutes, he reached a grating and after making sure no one was nearby, dropped down into a women's restroom. By his reckoning, he was several floors up and more than likely in the more administrator sections of the tower. Stark Industries' main headquarters was near Malibu, California, but they had always maintained a second headquarters along with their former rival company Hammer Industries. With Justin Hammer in jail, the company had folded soon after and S.I.'s CEO, Pepper Potts had brought the land to convert it into a new factory branch for S.I.'s new green technology division. That was where the arc reactor powering the building had been built from.

He had read rumors that the tower itself was powered by a very advance artificial intelligence, that could instantly detect and subdue intruders. There had to be an identification algorithm written in there, perhaps connected to Interpol, SHIELD, or any of the vast intelligence networks world wide if it was able to detect and subdue intruders. The risk was great for him since he knew he was a wanted man – not wanted by the agencies, but by his employers. Before coming up with his plan, he had internally debated the merits and decided that it was a risk he was willing to take. Not because of the potential of having his employers find him, but rather because of what he read about Tony Stark.

The man did not like playing by the rules, preferring to make his own. And if he was such a man, who was it to say that the artificial intelligence guarding the tower had similar programming?

He stepped out of the women's restroom and stared up at the nearest security camera, face impassive. He took his baseball cap off and removed his jacket. Five seconds later he received his wish as alarms blared.

It was only then that the Winter Soldier allowed himself a little smile.

* * *

"Sir, there's something you should see," JARVIS's voice overrode the music that was blaring in Tony's workroom as he finished tinkering with the body of the Mark Z-III Iron Man suit.

"You know I don't like being interrupted when Daddy's having alone time with his toys," he ran an eye over what he did before a crooked smile worked its way up his face. It was perfect – until he figured out what else he could do to further tweak the suit.

"Sir, I insist," the A.I. said, a hint of worry in his tone before Tony rolled his eyes and sighed, waving the music off with an absent hand.

"All right, what is it?" he shook his head as JARVIS brought up a video feed and Tony nearly felt his heart stop at the image.

"What, the hell...?" he blinked several times and rubbed his eyes for good measure at the sight of the Winter Soldier _standing_ casually in the hallway of one of the lower levels of the tower.

"There is a one-hundred percent match to the Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, sir," JARVIS said, "I have alerted security to lockdown the building and evacuate the building. NYPD has been informed that the Tower has gone into lockdown-"

"Did you tell them?"

"No, sir," the A.I. said, "per your orders from Captain Rogers. He has also been notified as has former Agent Hill. Both are on their way down to the floor-"

"Why the hell is he just standing there?" Tony wondered out loud as spread his fingers out, widening the video feed, "he's...not moving..."

"I do not know sir," JARVIS replied, "shall I notify Colonel Rhodes and Falcon?"

"No to Rhodey, yes to Wilson. He's been out there keeping an ear to the ground in D.C. Geez..." Tony frowned as he considered his options and pushed away from the table, "JARVIS, suit, and also let NYPD, Fire, and whatever, that it's just a slight malfunction with one of the labs."

"Yes sir. Sir, Dr. Banner is also-"

"Tell Bruce to stay put where he is in the labs. I don't want him going all green in case Winter Soldier decides to wipe us," Tony ordered as he stepped onto the platform and the Z-Mk. II began to assemble around him, "actually, tell him to be on alert _in case the Winter Soldier decides to wipe us_."

"I'm sure he would use his discretion," JARVIS replied dryly directly into his HUD as the suit finished powering up and Tony headed outside. He stepped off of the platform, dropping several stories as JARVIS displayed a holographic imaging of the floor plans and the locations of Steve and Hill, the former of the two making his way far faster down the stairs than Hill who was in another stairwell coming down from S.I.'s branch offices.

"Anything happening?" Tony activated his suit's hovering mode as he noted the stream of civilians and pedestrians coming out of the building. NYPD had shown up and was erecting a barrier around Grand Central Station to ensure that no unauthorized personnel would be able to break through. Above, he noted that the news choppers were already hovering, though kept in place by police choppers.

If there was one thing that Tony found ironic was that the NYPD had actually heeded his request – one year ago, before SHIELD had been dissolved under the wake of the HYDRA scandal, they would not have given him the time of day. Now, with a majority of SHIELD's secrets out there in the public, he had been treated with far more respect and a kind of authority that made the government take heed of his actions.

He had seen the secrets released, memos on past missions, target lists – finding himself, Pepper, Rhodey, all of his friends on the target list had been very disconcerting – a report on his parents' accident that was no 'accident'. But reading them, that was something he had found difficult. It was not that the secrets were there, especially the ones that proved he was right about Phase Two and all sorts of other weaponry, but rather because there was something inherently _wrong_ about reading the secrets of his friends, some of whom lived in the Avengers Tower with him.

He had seen at least a petabyte of files on Bruce alone, most of it dealing with his research and transformation into the Hulk, and it was he who had invited Bruce to live in anonymity at the tower in the first place – soon after trapping Thanos in the Tesseract prison three years ago. So far, none of SHIELD's files indicated that they knew Bruce was living here, but they did speculate that he occasionally visited.

There was another petabyte and some more on Captain America himself – filled with a lot of psychology analysis and tests, especially Dr. Erskine's notes on him. Attached to those notes were notes made by his father Howard, the Tesseract cube, limitations of technology – all sorts of things that Tony would have once loved to read about, but now felt oddly betrayed by them. He wondered if it was his lifetime of corporate secrets, of keeping secrets himself, of the beginnings of the Iron Man suit, trying to bring Rhodey in and keep it hush-hush before he decided to hell with it and announce that he was a superhero.

He had seen the news regarding SHIELD, had seen the reports that Nick Fury had been assassinated by the fabled Winter Soldier. Had almost put on the suit to help Rogers, but everything had happened so fast that by the time he had flown there, the Triskelion was destroyed, Rogers was in the hospital, Natasha was gone after testifying in front of Congress, and SHIELD was officially dissolved. The only saving grace was that Senator Stern had been outed as a HYDRA supporter and Tony was able to see him led away in-person before Rhodey had absconded him to warn him that the government was paranoid and jumping at shadows at anyone who may be HYDRA.

Tony had gotten the implied warning to be on his best behavior, but since when had he followed orders like that? He had done the opposite and marched straight into the emergency Congressional panel and told them what he really thought of what was happening, nearly lynching good men and women like Natasha, Hill, Fury, Coulson, even Steve for all that had happened. Congress had pushed back – their constituents did not like it and public support favored him.

He then offered a place for Steve and his friend Sam Wilson as their base of operations for their search for the Winter Soldier, Steve's formerly-thought-dead-best-friend Bucky Barnes. Wilson had thanked him for his tech and Tony had been confused until he mentioned his unit, the 58th United States Air Force rescue paratroopers who used the wing-flight system tech he remembered tinkering and approving the plans for a few years ago.

Nearly one year out and Tony wondered _why_ now of all times was the Winter Soldier showing up at the tower. "Any change?"

"No sir," JARVIS replied, "sir, Rogers has arrived on the floor."

"Got audio?"

"Negative, I'm patching in the security footage-"

"Evacuation?"

"Ninty-five percent of personnel are out," his A.I. replied.

"All right, let's head in and make sure he's not here to kill Steve," Tony had a contingency plan that involved tossing the Winter Soldier high up into the air and away from the populace should anything happen. If a fight broke out, he did not want the structural integrity of his building compromised by two super soldiers hitting each other with the force and power of at least half of the Hulk.

JARVIS plotted the optimal path of entry which would only shatter one window, for now, and have the debris fall in the gardens plaza instead of on people still evacuating, and flew towards it.

* * *

Steve felt his heart pounding as he stepped carefully out of the emergency stairwell, shield strapped to his back. JARVIS had already helpfully provided the distance, steps needed for effective neutralization, even points in the hall where he could ricochet his shield to be most effective, to where Bucky apparently still stood. He silently appreciated the information, especially since the A.I. had taken in his combat style and preferences and provided what he needed. But at the same time, he could not tamp down on the apprehension that had filled him.

What was Bucky doing here? Why now of all times? Where had he been for the last year or so, and how long had he known he was here? It was clear from what JARVIS had said as he and Agent Hill raced towards the floor Bucky was on, that the A.I. had extrapolated Bucky's appearance as not a coincidence. His not-so-dead friend had planned this, had known and studied the tower's layout; had known where the weakest points were (through the touristy part of the first two floors), and for all intents and purposes, _had not moved a single inch _since walking out of the restroom. JARVIS had also extrapolated that Bucky had used the vents as his entry and exit point, but also knew what floors to minimize exposure.

This floor was mostly administrative offices for various departments in S.I., but it was also heavily shielded from RFID, satellites, and any type of electronic or wire tapping. To Steve that meant that Bucky did not want to be found, but had been willing to be found by them, by the Avengers. Maria Hill's office was several more floors up, just one floor below the start of the labs and Stark's penthouse, but it was also similarly shielded. Tony was not taking any chances with HYDRA or SHIELD after what had happened the year before.

Steve kept his shield strapped to his back as he navigated the halls to where Bucky was. He knew that if it was anyone else who had been the Winter Soldier, he would have already drawn it and held it defensively, but this was Bucky. This was his best friend, almost akin to his twin brother. Though they had been born in different years, it was only ten months that technically separated their ages, Bucky the younger one.

He turned the corner and froze, a surge of emotions raging inside of him as he saw that it was really Bucky standing in the middle of the hallway. He had put his jacket back on, but the baseball cap had been discarded to the side. Still, the silver gleam of his cybernetic metallic left hand was visible as it flexed and curled into a fist. Steve did not know what the gesture meant, having no memories of Bucky actually doing something like that, but he wondered if perhaps it was a phantom memory of an arm that had been replaced.

Flat eyes stared at him, and Steve could not even fathom what was behind that emotionless gaze. Bucky's eyes used to be expressive, lighting up with humor, seriousness, even the cold professionalism to which he shot people with his sniper rifle. Here...this was the same eyes that he had seen when he had first fought him in the streets of D.C. This was not the rage-filled eyes, the broken _hurt_ that had tried to pound him into oblivion as the Helicarrier crashed around them.

He noted that the corners of Bucky's eyes were crinkled, just the barest hint, but visible through his enhanced senses. The crinkling was not of a smile nor of anything else except to denote pain. Otherwise, Bucky stood before him as emotionless as one of Tony's Iron Man suits.

"...Bucky?" he tried out cautiously as he approached slowly, spreading his hands out to show that he was not going to draw any weapons. As much as he wanted to run and hug his best friend, he knew that any fast movement would probably send Bucky into a frenzied action.

"You...were my mission," Bucky's voice rasped like it had not been spoken for ages and Steve briefly wondered if he had spoken at all since he had screamed those words into his face before he fell into the Potomac.

He stayed silent, knowing no words said now would be beneficial and instead would be empty air. The distant crash of glass followed by the faint familiar sound o repulsors made him turn back a little even though every single one of his super soldier senses screamed for him to turn right back around and make sure Bucky did not ambush or attack him. He ignored those senses, trusting Bucky to _not_ stab him or shoot him, and touched his ear where he had put in the earpiece to talk to Maria and to Tony, "Stark, stay where you are!"

"Like hell-"

"I got this-"

"Cap, that's the Winter Soldier-"

"It's Bucky, Stark, not the Winter Soldier-"

"And how are you so sure, it is...Bucky?" Steve turned around, blinking in surprise at Bucky's words.

"Buck-"

"That man in the Air and Space Museum..." Bucky's voice was still raspy and quiet, but it sounded strange, almost as if it was in some kind of agony, "that man-"

"Is you," Steve cut in, seeing the crinkles furrow with further pain, "that man was you and you are still that man. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos."

"I..."

Steve's eyes widened as Bucky suddenly fell to his knees, his right hand grasping at the long strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut in what was clearly pain etched across his face. His metallic hand punched a hole into the ground and whatever he was about to say dissolved into a hiss.

"Bucky!" he surged forward only to stop as those dead eyes bore into him, an unspoken command _not_ to come any closer. "...Bucky-"

Bucky's lips peeled open in a grimace as he clearly fought with something internal and let loose a shaky gasp, "You...were...my mission..."

Steve did not know why he said those words again, but shook his head even though it was clear that his friend could not see him as he dug his fingers deeper into his head, "No, you're Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos. United States Army Strategic Scientific Reserve. You're my friend, _I know you_."

Bucky punched the floor again with his arm, cracking through plaster and electronics that were wired underneath.

"I'm with you _to the very end_-"

That was when his best friend suddenly howled, a terrible soul-ripping sound that made him step back. Horror filled him as he watched Bucky suddenly collapse to the floor, thrashing as if someone was electrocuting him. "Bucky?! Bu-"

The sound suddenly cut off as Bucky heaved gasping breaths on the floor, staring up at almost nothing before turning his head. Steve felt tears pricking in the corner of his eyes as he saw the _emotion_ the sorrow, the hurt, the pain in them. "Help me..." his best friend whispered and all Steve could do was nod as Bucky's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.

"Always."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Just to be certain – I don't write romance, I don't write pairings. I do write a really nice epic bromance from time to time and that's how I see Steve and Bucky. Also, I believe that Bucky has a lot of his mental faculties (ala Jason Bourne), but just doesn't exactly have the memories to go with it. Also, I'm taking a leaf out of Timothy Zahn's _Star Wars: Heir to the Empire Trilogy_ playbook regarding Bucky and the targets he is assigned to kill. See you next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 2_

Steve did not want to stand in front of a surgical observation window again - not after watching Director Fury 'die.' It was not that he did not like concept of death, he had dealt it to many since he became Captain America; as well as seen plenty in his lifetime, especially within the Howling Commandos and their war against HYDRA during World War II. He had held fellow soldiers in his arms as they died from their wounds. The Commandos worked with both elite and regular units during the war, and while they had suffered only one – actually now, zero – casualties during the course of the war; there were plenty of others who had made the ultimate sacrifice. Far from the fact that he accepted death as it came, it was the hopelessness that made him hate the observation window. The hopelessness of not being able to do _anything_ except stand there.

But he was standing in front of such a window once more, looking in, feeling helpless as Dr. Banner examined Bucky. His best friend was lying in one of the state-of-the-art medical chairs that turned into a comfortable bed. It was designed by Stark himself and Bucky was still unconscious and heavily sedated in case he woke up. The only thing Bruce had allowed him to contribute was the decision of the dosage. The reasoning was that it was clear Bucky had undergone a variation of the super soldier serum like he had; judging by how hard he had hit and had fought a year ago.

Dr. Banner had even shooed Tony out of the room after the latter had wanted to look at Bucky's mechanical arm, already noting how state-of-the-art it was for a relic supposedly created seventy years ago. He had begun to speculate the technology embedded within followed by technical jargon about servos and motors that Steve had a hard time following. The general gist Steve got was that Tony was comparing it to technology similar to his Iron Man suits. The meaning was puzzling, but he also knew that Tony was worried that more of his tech that he had created and given to SHIELD had also been to improve Bucky's arm and potentially killing others with it.

He knew that Stark was already under a lot of pressure from Congress regarding how the Insight Helicarriers had repulsor technology when he would not even share them with the United States government. However, since Tony had all but rebuffed Congress and taken a lot of displaced SHIELD members under his company's wing, he figured that the pressure was perhaps not too great. Perhaps it was a little unfair to Tony, but Steve was glad that he was able to deal with the politics instead of having the spotlight shoved onto him.

He had told Sam Wilson a little over a year ago that there were a few things he liked waking up seventy years later and also a few things he did not like. Politics, was one of the few things that had not changed one bit and he still disliked it.

"Been doing a little digging about that arm of his," Tony's voice broke into his thoughts as he turned to see him ambling out of the elevator, familiar silvery dried fruit packet in his hand. He shook his head as Stark wordlessly shoved the packet towards him before shrugging and popping what looked like dried pineapple into his mouth and chewed it.

"Find anything?" Steve turned his gaze back to the window and saw Bruce taking the stylus and making notes on the three-dimensional holographic projection. He frowned a little as he saw that the projection was not of Bucky's blood work or vitals, but rather was now an imaging of his brain. However, he did not knock on the window, trusting Bruce to do what he needed to do.

"Yep," Stark shook his head, "Dad used to say that your shield used up all of the rarest metal in existence, vibranium, right?"

"Yeah?" his eyes tracked Bruce as he walked over to one of the centrifuges in the room, or at least the one that was not covered by mounds of paper that he had dug out in the past few hours of his old research notes into the super soldier project at Culver University. Bruce took a few of the vials that had been spinning for a while and was examining it, bringing up another projection and seemingly talking to thin air, though Steve supposed it was JARVIS.

"I cross referenced the files you gave me from Natasha and traced it to several dummy corporations in what used to be the Eastern Bloc when Soviet Russia still existed. The shipments were definitely listed in ancient CRAY databases that still exist, though are unused, but then there's a curious address listed in one of the early existence of the arm's manufacturing."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," he grimaced a little as he realized his words were mean and opened his mouth to apologize before Tony laughed a little.

"Get this, it's your old SSR bunker that you guys used in London back in the World War."

The words registered about a second later and he pulled his gaze away from the window to stare at Tony. "What?"

"The old SSR bunker, you know, the same one that Coulson's using as the unofficial secondary headquarters of SHIELD for those who don't want to be residing in the Tower? That same one that Thor's kind of semi-guarding only because Dr. Foster is in London at the moment, working on some weird teleportation, convergence, something project that she and Dr. Selvig aren't really talking about since we talked to them, oh, maybe a couple of weeks ago?"

"Did you ask Agent Coulson about that?" the implication rattled Steve as he blinked several times. They had all known about HYDRA leeching onto SHIELD during its inception after the war was over, but what Tony was saying... Could HYDRA have been everywhere? They clearly had different branches and not all were unified – or at least those who used HYDRA's name were ignorant to the main 'head' so to speak, was located within SHIELD. Jormungandr's attempt a little over two years ago had proven that – his HYDRA faction was clearly not affiliated with the one that had parasitically latched onto SHIELD.

"Just sent the request myself before coming up here," Tony shrugged, "it's going to take some time since Coulson's still trying to keep everything secured. HYDRA really did a number on SHIELD."

Steve understood the non-spoken statement and also what Tony had done since SHIELD collapsed. Of all of the so-called SHIELD bunkers, the Avengers Tower was the most visible and therefore the biggest target for HYDRA. While he knew Stark would never show it, he cared for the agents that had been displaced and understood what Coulson was doing in wake of Fury's absence – or in Stark's knowledge, his death. The Agent was secretly planning missions, infiltrations, anything and everything SHIELD used to do, but to eradicate HYDRA from within. The Avengers were the public and visible front of SHIELD's efforts while Coulson's actions were in the shadows to take down the parasite.

While Tony had more or less painted a giant target on the tower and on his teammates, it was something Steve did not mind. He would rather be the shield than the sword to protect those who could not defend themselves. If he needed to protect Coulson and the other agents he was gathering for secret offenses and the like, then that was fine. It was his responsibility and his job – to protect the helpless from bullies like HYDRA. But he was not so naïve as to know that sometimes, the helpless were not so helpless and occasionally were bullies of their own. He just trusted and hoped that Coulson and the others' actions were morally sound. The world did not need another Project Insight or algorithm that would kill anyone before they could prove themselves.

"How's Sleeping Beauty?" Tony jerked his chin towards where Bucky was still unconscious as he popped a couple more dried pinapples into his mouth and chewed, "Want one?" Bruce was now seemingly flitting back and forth between the various projections he had up, one hand still holding a vial of blood. There was now something that looked like a spinning wheel-within-a-wheel of sorts on one of the screens, but it was too small for him to make anything about of it.

Steve shook his head again as he watched, trying to figure out what the three-dimensional image of Bucky's brain was all about. He was somewhat familiar with human anatomy, after being his mother's power of attorney when she had fallen ill and passed away. Her doctors pointed out the various things that had ailed her and gave him a crash course on basic anatomy, but that was about it. The brain however, was a mystery to him.

Tony suddenly tapped the window, "Hey Bruce, I know you like AIM's brain tech that they helpfully gave me, but seriously? You're gonna have a crush on some assassin's brain there? Though I guess if you ask Natasha, she probably has a really sexy one."

Steve frowned as he half-glared at Stark who only grinned as Banner stuck his middle finger in their general direction before going back to work. At first glance, one thought that the window was see through for both sides, but Steve knew that Bruce had tinted his side of the window to prevent any sorts of distraction, read: Tony being Tony, when he started his examination of Bucky.

Lifting his finger from the window, Stark sighed loudly and shook his head, chuckling to himself. Steve suppressed the annoyance that suddenly rose in him, trying to tell himself that this was just Tony being Tony, nothing more, but it was hard seeing his best friend unconscious in the other room, the helplessness of not being able to do anything-

"Hey, I'm sorry, Steve," Stark's hand on his shoulder seemingly lifted the annoyance as he saw his friend give him a wan smile, "I know this is probably hard for you."

"...Yeah..." he muttered mostly under his breath as he scrubbed his face, feeling tired, "Just-"

He felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out as Stark muttered something about 'it was not a hospital protocol here so why did he have a phone on vibrate,' or something like that, but ignored him and answered it.

"Rogers here," he said.

"Hey," Sam's voice sounded a little distant along with what was clearly signs of traffic which meant that he was driving somewhere, "don't worry, hands-free device if you're wondering."

Steve laughed tiredly, wondering when had it become apparent to his friends that he followed almost all laws whenever he was out of uniform or even in it, made sure that the rules were followed to an extent.

"Listen, I'm kind of stuck on the Garden State and don't get me started on the Jersey Turnpike, not at rush hour up to New York. And no I am _not_ taking the pot-hole filled Palisades when I get closer to the city. I probably won't be there until later tonight, but wanted to let you know that I'm heading back as fast as I can. Since the radio's not reporting anything about the tower getting hosed or Grand Central Station being reduced to rubble again, I'm assuming that you and Bucky talked things out and he's not here to kill you again?"

"He...uh, passed out," out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce approaching door that led out of the lab-turned-recovery-room.

"Come again?" Sam sounded dubious.

"He asked me to help him before he passed out," Steve shrugged even though he knew that Sam could not see him.

"Well, that's a good start-"

"And that's what I want to talk to you about, Steve, Tony," Bruce said at the same time Sam spoke and Steve turned to see the door closing behind him.

"Uh, hey, hold on," he took the phone off of his ear and stared at the screen for a second before tapping the button that hopefully got it to speaker mode. He was getting used to the upgraded technology, but at the same time, was still learning to curb his strength as materials and objects made in this day and age felt a lot cheaper than the sturdy army phones he used back in the war. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam's voice projected from the phone and Steve silently congratulated himself on not crushing his tenth phone since waking up from being frozen.

"If it was a StarkPhone instead of you know, one of the other ones, you could have easily just displayed it," Tony ribbed none too gently and Steve only rolled his eyes at him.

For the first few times Tony had made fun of his phone for not being state-of-the-art, he had defended his choice by saying that it was something he wanted to buy on his own – not have it gifted to him when it was obvious that it was worth more than he could probably afford. He hated people giving him gifts that were frivolous or utterly out of his salary range – it made him feel cheap. The only 'advance' technology he had accepted was things that helped him on the battlefield, like his shield and field gear. Now, he ignored Tony's sarcastic remarks.

"Hey Mister Stark," Sam's voice had a hint of wry warmth in it.

"Hey yourself Bird Boy," Tony sounded equally amused. When Steve had first introduced Sam to Tony, his friend had all but expounded on the wonders of the flight harness technology that made him codenamed Falcon, and how it had performed in the theatre of war. Tony had taken it all in stride and had led them down to his workshop where he had showed Sam the latest prototype while also apologizing for not being able to make it better soon enough for the loss of Sam's wingmate.

That had surprised both he and Sam, but in hindsight, Steve realized that it was what Tony would have always done – his occasional self-sacrificial streak trying to make up for defects so that no one else would die under his watch. The two had also become good friends by virtue of talking about the wingsuit specs and improvements. It had reminded him a little more than painfully of him and Howard's relationship when the elder Stark had all but jumped at the chance to design his suit, shield; everything and anything he needed for the Commandos.

"Sam, do you mind doing a favor?" Bruce spoke up.

"That you, Doc Banner?" Sam asked, "sure, what do you need?"

"I need you head back to D.C. and wait for a bit. I'll call you with the details after JARVIS is finished decrypting some of Alexander Pierce's classified files. He's told me it'll take, uh-"

"-six hours at the most, sir, using the original entry way for the Phase Two project," JARVIS spoke up around them.

"Really?" this time Sam sounded a little annoyed before huffing a loud sigh, "Why? What's up?"

"I've done some preliminary analysis and blood work and it looks like that Bucky's been subjected to a lot of...experimentation," Bruce winced, refusing to meet Steve's eyes and even Tony's, "torture...electro shock therapy...along with other things, at least that's my guess. His brain chemistry is a mess with holes and dark spots in both temporal and frontal lobe. It's suggesting that's why he has no memories of you, but at the same time, recognizes you, Steve..."

"...Shit man..." Sam said quietly over the phone, so quietly that he was almost drowned out by the ambient traffic noise of the Garden State Parkway.

"My guess is that based on what you've told me about your encounters with him, and also his potential mental state, along with the fact that he's been HYDRA's puppet, is that as soon as he's done with his missions, he's put on ice. There are signs of maintenance within his prelim blood work, which means there have to be facilities nearby to service him. They're probably scattered throughout the world, but there's probably one in D.C., maybe near where the Triskelion used to be."

"I can start my search there," Sam said, "you want me to wait?"

"I'm hoping Pierce's files can tell us more about where he had Bucky stored, sorry Steve, I don't mean to sound insensitive-"

"It's fine," Steve grimaced, waving away Bruce's apology while swallowing his own discomfort at how _clinical_ Bruce sounded when was talking about Bucky being stored away like some inanimate object to be used later.

"But maybe it'll give us a lead as to where at least one of these facilities are," Bruce shrugged, "and hopefully some more information about how to reverse the memory wipe Bucky's gone through."

"We can undo it?" Steve lowered his arms, having crossed them while the others were talking.

"Maybe? I'm not a neurologist, but I can at least use some of what I know about the super soldier project and it's permutations to try to reverse it," Bruce said, looking a little sheepish and rubbed his arm absently. Steve knew that while he had come mostly to terms with the Other Guy, or the Hulk, in him, sometimes his mind still wondered at the possibilities if he had not had the Hulk in him.

"I know Tony's gonna want the full explanation, but if you want, I can explain it to you later. I kind of want to move Bucky into the room over so that he's comfortable..."

"Comfortable?" Tony asked, confused.

"Well..." Bruce bit his lip, looking a little uncomfortable, "he's been sedated before. At least judging by the needle marks along his wrist. They've mostly faded for the past year, but the initial tissue swab of that area picked up trace amounts of sedative, though I don't know how much."

It took every ounce of self-control and effort on Steve's part to not punch something in frustration and torment. How could- How- This was Bucky! This was- He blew out a quiet long sigh and closed his eyes, rubbing them before opening them again to see Tony looking determinedly away from him, his expression tight as if he was remembering something or giving him a moment of privacy. Bruce only pointedly look down at his phone and Steve realized that he had cracked the case – one that was touted as indestructible when he first brought it.

"...Sorry..." he apologized roughly.

"No worries, if you broke the phone, I would have called up Stark instead," Steve could hear the lightness across the connection and smiled a little.

"I think it would be okay to bring out of the sedation and let him wake up naturally. It looks like he hasn't really slept much, or well, since he was last seen," Bruce continued, "and I don't know, but if he's really taking the effort to search you out Steve, he's probably not going to run away after he wakes up."

"Can I...can I sit with him?" he asked, a little horrified at how childish he sounded. Bucky had been there for him for so long and he now wanted to be there for him.

"Sure, but I need to talk to you before you do that, okay? Just...wait out here for a bit. Let me get him to the other room and get him comfortable. Tony, wanna help me out?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure," Tony seemed to snap out of whatever funk he had fallen into before heading back into the lab-turned-room. It was a few seconds later that Steve realized he was still on the phone with Sam when he spoke up, his voice filling the empty hallway.

"You okay?"

"No..." Steve shook his head, "but...I will be I think..."

Sam snorted, making it sound like an electronic blast for a second, "Hang in there, Steve. But you don't need me telling you that; you'll do it for him."

"Yeah...stay safe, okay?"

"You too," Sam replied, "hey, tell Doc Banner and Stark that I'm billing them for the trip mileage. Making me turn around in the middle of the Garden State. Good thing I'm close to the border instead of near the city."

Steve laughed lightly before hanging the phone up and putting it back into his pocket. He turned back to watch through the observation window as Bruce directed Stark around, seemingly unhooking machines and the like and saw Stark moving off to the side to read something on one of the projections before talking to Bruce as the two of them worked in tandem. There was something tight in Tony's expression along with the looks he shot towards him through the observation window even though he could not see him. Finally the two wheeled the bed across the lab and into what was probably a guest bedroom attached to the lab, leaving Steve to stare at the mostly empty lab.

The three dimensional imaging of Bucky's brain along with the notes still hovered in the air, but Steve only stared past it. He had promised to help his best friend...but how did one help someone who had been systematically tortured and turned into a killing machine for seventy years?

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for those who have alerted, favorites, given kudos to this fic – you guys rock. I promise this fic is not all angst – just a lot of drama with healthy doses of action coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 3_

It was about twenty minutes later that Bruce waved him into the lab, Tony not so subtly leaving by awkwardly saying something about suit calibrations and the like. There was the shadow of a haunted look on his friend's face that Steve found puzzling, but figured he would ask him later. He glanced over at a second door that was closed, knowing that it was where Bucky had been moved to, but Bruce gestured for him to approach the floating images and projections that he had up at the other end of the lab.

"Most of what I could find from the leaked files about Bucky is still heavily redacted," Bruce started without preamble, "I mean in this digital age and stuff you would figure that there be more notes on him, especially since he's been activated and put back in cryo each time, but this tells me that either the files were all on paper and not digitized, or-"

"Only certain people knew where he could be found..." Steve finished for him. He had read the thin folder Natasha had given him about a year ago, read it so many times, upside down, right-side up to the point where he memorized every single little detail. There were sparse, blank, and too had redacted black lines drawn in it. The images were blurred, grainy, clearly rare photos taken of his friend in the years that he had been the Winter Soldier.

Bruce nodded before coughing lightly, "Listen, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but when you're researching the super soldier serum and stuff like that...you tend to learn a few things that you really didn't want to learn. You learn that there are certain things not to be kept on notes and only in your head because it's too dangerous in the wrong hands."

"Blonsky," Steve stated and received a confirming nod from Bruce.

"Amongst others," he murmured and Steve understood he was also talking about General Ross. So far, Ross had not even gone after Bruce even though he clearly had been on TV news a few times since New York, but he also figured it was SHIELD who had been protecting Bruce. Now, with SHIELD gone, every one of them knew that Bruce was vulnerable again and took pains to make sure that he was safe, hidden, no Hulk in sight for the pat year. If Bruce complained about people coddling him, hiding him, he did not say anything, but Steve got the impression that Dr. Banner was far more grateful for their efforts than thinking it was something otherwise.

Even though he had told Fury a year ago at the safehouse to expose all of SHIELD's and HYDRA's secrets, he was also practical and cynical enough to know that _most_ secrets had been leaked. There were certainly still secrets hidden, secrets kept in the minds of others, secrets not kept digitally. Whatever Natasha had found and given to him in her file at Fury's gravesite, he had learned later was _not_ part of the SHIELD files, even though they probably had agents in Kiev where she had apparently called in a few favors.

"The notes I was able to compile along with the stuff you gave me keep mentioning something about a Room of sorts. Room with a capital 'R'."

"Related to this?" he waved at the imaging of Bucky's brain.

"Probably, I don't know, but they keep mentioning Room. I want to ask Natasha about it, but there's no way of contacting her," Bruce shrugged and Steve nodded. She had meant it when she said she was going off-grid, to find a new identity. Though he knew that she was more than likely alive somewhere in the world, he had not heard from her since she had left Fury's gravesite. Sometimes he would worry about her whenever there was a lead on Bucky's whereabouts that he was following, or when Maria gave them a mission to take down a HYDRA cell. The only thing he knew was that she still alive somewhere, keeping an eye on them – after all, who would be able to take out a room full of guards well in advance to let them slip into at least two HYDRA bases in the past year?

"Anyways, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Bruce waved a finger across and several screens zipped by before settling on one that was chock full of text-lines. "I'm not a neurosurgeon, but when you're doing super soldier serum research, you kind of have to pick up on several fields because of what the serum does to your body. Bucky clearly had some variation put into him, probably by Zola like you said." He showed him another image of what looked like DNA strands.

"This is yours," Steve stared in slight fascination with what his DNA looked like, all sequenced out, "this is Bucky's. There are differences in the telomeres and codings, not enough for me to try to replicate the serum since it's actually unique to each individual-" He brought up a third strand, "That's mine by the way..."

Steve nodded absently as he absorbed the information and did note that there were some dark and light spacings in all three. He was not surprised to see that Bruce's looked radically altered, having used radiation upon his own self, but surprisingly it looked a little like his and Bucky's.

"Like I was saying, what I'm speculating is that when HYDRA found him, they either knew that Bucky was experimented on, or discovered that fact because of what they did to his arm."

"What?" Steve blinked.

Bruce waved away the DNA screen and brought up digital rendering of Bucky's skeletal structure, his fingers moving this way and that before zooming into the where Steve could see a clear break where his best friend's arm was missing. "They chopped his arm off."

Steve paled and felt sick as he stared at the bone. It did not look like it had been sliced off, and in fact looked like it had been broken before someone had sheered off part of the bone and used the remaining flesh and tissue to create a sealed wrap around the bone-

"The marks are very faint, and very old, and I almost didn't catch it until I was looking over the attachment areas between the metal and whatever was left of his shoulder," Bruce looked at him in sympathy before pointing out the very, very faint marks. "My guess is that they were trying to see if whatever Zola did would be able to regrow limbs or something. Looks like it sort of did before maybe it stopped and they decided to move on."

"...Move on...?" he did not realize how faint his voice had become until Bruce's hand on his shoulder made him blink again.

"You okay? We can do this later-"

"No," Steve shook his head, his voice rough, "tell me now because I don't want to hear it later."

Bruce gave him an inscrutable look before nodding, "Okay. What does this have to do with his brain is what I'm speculating, okay? Just speculation. We don't really know what happened and I get the feeling Bucky won't be telling us any time soon."

"Speculation, right," Steve repeated, but it was hard. Speculation did not mean he was converting it to truth in his mind – the horror, the anger, the rage at what HYDRA did-

"Speculation," Bruce repeated again, staring at him.

"...It's...hard..."

"It always is," Bruce only smiled sadly before bringing the three-dimensional imaging of Bucky's brain to the forefront of all the images. "The brain is the most resilient organ we have in the human body. It never stops growing, never stops healing, and is the only organ with the capacity to learn, store, and filter everything we know about emotions, abilities, feelings, intelligence, everything. Your stomach can't do that, though it'll tell your brain when you're full or not to eat something that is poison. That's your brain doing it."

"I'm _speculating_ that when they realized Bucky's arm stopped regenerating, they decided to test the regeneration on a more pliable organ."

Steve stayed silent, though he could hear himself grinding his teeth, trying to tamp down on the anger that was steadily rising in him.

"There are definitely scars there, the same faint ones that are on his arms, which means, they did this probably soon after or also at the same time when they were cutting his arm off. You don't cut into a healthy brain unless there's something wrong," Bruce held the image of Bucky's brain with both hands, his fingers pinched together as he rotated it around by moving his arms. "They definitely messed with his amygdala – that's the part of the brain that has a primary role in the processing of memory, decision-making, and emotional reactions. It's located very deep within the lobe. Cutting through all of that dense tissue meant that they also messed with a lot of temporal lobe, too, though I haven't been able to figure out a lot of it. Like I said, I'm not a neurosurgeon."

"You also said his frontal lobe was affected?"

"Probably the first time they did it to make sure that the brain was able to 'heal' so to speak," Bruce twisted the image to show the front of Bucky's brain, "I've only read notes on 1940s and 50s psychological practices and barely paid attention to the sensationalized news, but from what I'm getting, the best way to treat patients back then was to either lobotomize them or electro shock them."

"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," the movie had been disturbing to say the least, but he understood it on some level. Tony had only showed it soon after New York because he wanted a strange sense of vicious justice for what Loki had done.

"Something like that," Bruce shrugged.

"You're saying they tried to lobotomize Bucky?" it was very hard to get that word out, to force himself to stay calm instead of throwing _something_, anything. "Why...?" he whispered but shook his head before Bruce could speak. He had answered his own question – the Bucky he knew would have fought, would have railed and tried anything and everything to escape again. Drugged up, even hazy, he had fought when Steve had found him in the factory while rescuing the 107th and others. He had fought by only repeating his name, rank, serial number – had refused to give anything else. If the HYDRA scientists that had cut his arm off had now tried to perform more experiments on him, he would have fought and their answer was to try to cut all emotions from him, to make him pliant, and perhaps a drooling wreck like he had seen from that movie.

"These dark spots, not holes, but dark spots, tell me that they figured out the part of brain that made him not resist whatever they were doing afterwards. There are definitely marks in the temporal area where they were messing around with his amygdala, but there are also dark spots too.

Bruce released the imaging of Bucky's brain and rubbed his eyes tiredly, taking his glasses off and letting them hang around his neck, "I have to study those dark spots closer, but this is what I've found so far."

"So his memories...?"

"I'm sure it's related to the dark spots, but from what I can guess, he doesn't exactly have retrograde amnesia – I mean, he's definitely functional and knows the lay of the land, so to speak, he knows how to speak, but what we do know about the processing of memory, both long term and short term, is still up for grabs."

"He said...he said he knew me..."

Bruce nodded, "And that's what's puzzling." He gestured to the dark spots that dotted parts of Bucky's brain, but were more deeply clustered in the frontal and temporal lobes, "The first thing I noticed was that those dark spots, they were shifting."

"Shifting?"

The doctor winced, "Shifting isn't the best word I can come up with, but it's like something trying to make those dark spots go away, light up if you will, but failing. At the same time, his brain chemistry was all off; and in fact, like if someone had a cluster migraine all at once that wouldn't just go away."

For someone who was not well versed in neuroscience, Steve was a little surprised at how knowledgeable Bruce was until he realized maybe the scientist had felt a similar type of 'migraine' whenever the Hulk was trying to force itself out from him. He had seen times when Bruce would pinch the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off an annoying headache. It had been apparent during the two times Loki had 'helped' them – the Trickster God always walking with more caution in the lab on the Helicarrier.

"It's definitely not apparent now since it's been several hours," Bruce continued, "but it was definitely noticeable after we first scanned him. Surprisingly it's died down and you don't even see it anymore."

"You think it was him trying to remember?"

"Maybe? Maybe not? I don't really know. But he did seem to be in a lot of pain when you and Tony carried him in here," Bruce shook his head, "From whatever little I read about amnesia patients, sometimes some of them get headaches when they are around familiar things – that they're trying to remember. Sometimes, it takes them a little more to process and remember."

Steve realized that it could very well be _himself_ that had caused Bucky so much pain. That it was himself who kept breaking through whatever programming, whatever memories that wiped out who he was, and caused so much pain to his best friend to turn him into such a cornered animal who's only instinct was to lash out to _stop_ the pain. He bit his lip, "I...shouldn't sit with him, should I?"

Bruce only stared at him before shaking his head, "The easiest answer is no, you shouldn't sit with him because you know you might be the one causing that pain. But the other answer is yes, because you _don't_ know if you're causing the pain or if Bucky is truly remembering. Like I said, those dark spots, they're the key to this and it could be either or-"

"Or both," he interrupted.

"-that's a bridge we have to cross at a later time," Bruce said, "But you should because he's your friend."

"What if-"

"Even if you think you're the cause of the pain he's been feeling, just remember, _he came to you for help_."

"...Yeah..." that was not really comforting, but at the same time, he tried to wrap himself around it instead of speculating that it was he who had really caused Bucky to snap. He had been willing to let his best friend beat him to a pulp, to die for him because maybe, maybe he would come back then. But Bucky had stopped and perhaps that was some consolation – some hope that his best friend was trying to work _past_ the pain.

Bruce waved away the images and Steve heaved a heavy sigh, "Thanks Doc."

"Don't thank me," Bruce shook his head, "it's the least I can do."

He understood the implication that Bruce wanted to know more about what happened to Bucky, wanted the knowledge – wanted to know how he could fix himself in the long run. Even though Bruce accepted the Hulk as a part of him, Steve knew that there would always be a part of Bruce that yearned for a normal life, a life where he could spend the rest of his days with Betty. He had only met Betty once before she had been whisked away to an undisclosed safe house by Agent Coulson and even that had been on Bruce's insistence. It was clear that Bruce had been and was still so ashamed of what happened, of putting her at so much risk.

"Oh, and don't worry about the noises from the basement," Bruce grinned tiredly as the two of them walked to the entrance, Steve detouring to where Bucky was now staying and palmed the door open.

"I understand," they all understood that there were times when Bruce was so stressed that he needed to unleash the Hulk and beat the crap out of something. But before permanently residing in the Tower, he was a danger to whatever community or town he was in, now, Tony had built a specific Hulk-buster unit to help Bruce and sometimes, they heard angry roars or minor tremors that rang through the building. Those were the days that the Avengers Museum was _not_ open and all S.I. personnel who were not aware of Bruce's presence had been sent home for the day. With what had just happened, Agent Hill would have already kept everyone off site for the remainder of the day.

"Hey Doc," Steve called out as Bruce opened the door, "thank you."

Bruce only gave him a wan smile before leaving, and Steve turned back to open the door to the adjacent room. He stepped in as the waning sunset lit Bucky's room, bathing it in orange, red, and purplish hues. There was a spectacular view from his bed and Steve noted the faint tinting, indicating that it was opaque from the other side.

"Wish I had this view," he muttered, even though he knew that the open loft he had been given at the Tower afforded him another great view, but pointed towards Brooklyn. He had been touched and surprised at Tony's thoughtfulness when he and Sam had packed their things and moved to the Tower – Sam given the second-highest room, Clint having the highest by virtue of his codename and the fact that he liked the helipad rooftop a lot.

From the tinted window, he could see bits of Brooklyn, but mostly downtown, Trade One's spire jutting high up, a gleaming monument to the resiliency and testament that the United States would never forget September 11th, 2001. He could see the buildings that made up Chinatown, Town Hall, and Little Italy. Could see bits of Bryant Park and the Library, and just make out 14th Street and Union Square.

Steve wished he could sketch the view he had and wished he had brought his sketchbook before noticing a pencil and a fresh sketchbook sitting on one of the end tables in the room. Shaking his head, he knew it had to be Stark who left it there, probably having appreciated the same view he had. A quick glance at Bucky's still form, almost unmoving save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, told Steve that he was still unconscious from the sedatives. He did not really know how long it would be until Bucky woke up from them, but in the meantime, he could at least provide some normalcy that he sorely needed. Sketching by Bucky's bedside was nothing new for him – having done it once or twice when Bucky had defended him from bullies and occasionally got injured – and it was at least something Steve knew he could do to keep his mind off of what Bruce had just told him.

He sat down by one of the chairs near the window, next to Bucky's beside and started to draw.

* * *

He knew he had been sedated. He knew because he had felt it before, going into and coming out of the cold. That much he remembered and felt even when he was crawling out of the darkness, out of the muddled haze that he knew was from artificial sleep. Voices would be muffled in his ears, and he would be feeling pressure on his bare skin. That was one of the few...memories...he retained, one of the few things besides instinct that drove him.

But the anticipation of hearing those muffled voices quickly turned into puzzlement as he heard _nothing_.

Nothing except a faint scratching noise, uneven, sometimes long, sometimes short, sometimes harsh, sometimes soft. They were followed by the sound of something muffled then a tapping-dragged-across sound that was unfamiliar.

_There was someone else in the room_.

There was someone else in the room and he _knew_ it was not one of the voices that put pressure on parts of his skin; voices that made him instinctively lash out, the howl of pain that was not his own that followed-

He opened his eyes to a decidedly unfamiliar off-white ceiling, sunset-lit room that showed the familiar scenery of downtown New York and-

The pressure in his head bloomed right behind his eyes once more as he saw his once-target, still-his-target, no! Saw Steve Rogers – target – person-who-would-help-him – He had not realized he had half lifted himself from the bed, the whine of his mechanical arm harsh and grating until he froze, blinking as his targ- as Rogers looked up at him.

His eyes, they were blue.

_It was the first thing dames commented each time Steve was within their vicinity. How they giggled behind their hands as he walked, oblivious to the admiring looks he was getting from all of those who worked in the SSR bunkers_. _It had been the feature that he had tried to sell to the dames that he dated and suggested double dates with if they had a friend before they all shipped out. It was the only superficial thing he could sell the dames on with – they were not that interested in how large Steve's heart was, how kind and caring-_

Those eyes blinked, seemingly surprised, but did nothing else except stare at him for what seemed like a long moment. It was only the flick of the eyes going lower that he noticed his flesh-and-blood arm was shaking, rather violently and forcibly stilled it with a mental command as he watched the tar- watched Rogers warily.

He noted the pencil in hand as the source of the unfamiliar scratching sound that had alerted him to the unfamiliarity of what was in this room. He also noted that there was something akin to a drawing on the pad that his targ- that Rogers held in his lap, feet propped up, making him seemingly curl into himself. Judging by how detailed the sketch was, at least from his vantage point, the target, Rogers, had to have been curled up for a while now, cramped muscles and all.

It would make him easier to kill.

He analyzed several ways he could lash out, to use the pencil as a weapon, to using the window and what was clearly the height to his advantage. The bed itself was a weapon as were the sheets that covered him. His clothing would hinder his movement just a bit and he could feel from the whine and tactile feel of his arm that it needed maintenance. But he was at the Avengers Tower and would be able to easily procure the necessary tools to temporarily fix it. There was no sign of the shield that the target wore-

He blinked once more as his vision was obscured with a familiar-not-so-familiar hand shoving a pencil underneath his vision and could hear the counter whine of his arm, straining-

"...What...are you doing?" he could feel the words being dragged out of him, the pain blooming behind his eyes, growing ever stronger. It made him want to scream, for it to stop, that he would not ask for it again, that he would eliminate the target-

He did not know _why_ he was asking that question, did not know _why_ he did not just use the pencil that clearly was being handed to him to kill the targ-, to kill Rogers. He-

"Here," the single word felt like a damn bursting open in his mind as he felt something digging deep, demanding that he _take_ it and be done with it. It hurt, like little hot knives and it was everything he could do to resist – though he did not understand _why_ – and forced himself to steady his breath. He could never show weakness, could never show fear, could never- He closed his eyes against the sight of the pencil, of the calloused hands that he knew, _knew_, was Steve Rogers'. He could hear the mental howl of betrayal, that he should _never_ close his eyes against the enemy – _he says he's my friend! - _ and the too-loud sound of his arm forcing himself to lie back down on the bed.

Showing the relaxed guarded posture was one way of luring in a target, to kill the target quickly. To tear his neck apart and crack it like it was nothing, like a twig. He knew it had been done many times, the first lesson he taught. To whom he taught it to, he did not remember, but the pain was not as bad as before, if he wished it. He could still _feel_ his presence in the room, but could almost imagine that the pain behind his eyes was lessening, accepting that he was to kill his targ-, to kill Rogers-

He could sense the hand withdrawing along with the pencil and minutely relaxed – the weapon had been taken away, still there, but it did not sing to him to use it, to use it at that very moment. There were still other weapons in the room, but he was _glad_.

He heard the targ-, Rogers, shift and knew the soldier had uncurled himself from his drawing position. He had lost his opportunity then, for he knew the soldier had a rapidly healing advantage. He could easily still take him if he acted now-

"Thank you for pulling me out of the Potomac," the target said, voice quiet.

He could not suppress the wince of pain as it felt like someone stabbed him in between the eyes. There was silence afterwards, followed by sounds of shifting, but he could still feel the target's, Rogers' presence in the chair next to the bed he was on.

"I'm causing the pain, aren't I?"

_"Ya think buddy?!_" the alien quip that he could almost _hear_ issuing from his mouth stayed where it was, silent, unspoken. He saw the brief image of running as explosions happened, a place of ozone, burnt forests, soot, the mad, mad laughter of his teammates in victory-

"I'm sorry," the voice was so forlorn, so apologetic that a grunt issued from his mouth before he could stop it. He did not know where the sound came from, but somehow found comfort in such a noise. It was just a plain noise, like the hiss of pain, the anger that he had felt, the fury, the broken-

_"Stop apologizing, Steve! It's not your fault!_"

There had been rain then, he was sure of it. Puddles of wet rain that they ran through because he wanted to visit his mother's grave even though the weather was forecasted to be torrential downpours. It had also been very sunny in the morning so he could at least forgive him for suggesting the visit.

He had not realized he had thrown the covers back and had pulled himself out of the bed until he found the cool walls of the room pressing against his back, his knees pressed up against him, the blanket wrapped around himself as he opened his eyes to the destruction he had wrought. The bed had splintered, broken, metallic things sticking out – more weapons he could use against the target – one of the legs on the chair missing, kicked and embedded into a wall-

He turned his head to see that the targ-, that Rogers' small corner had remained untouched.

His eyes, they were blue and they were concerned.

It was then that he also noticed the door to the room had been left half open, sparking metal and wires. The whine of sick metal made him look down at his arm to see bits of burnt wires sticking out from once pristine-smooth plates. He did not remember-

"Fugue," the words tumbled like rusty nails from his lips as he clenched and unclenched his metal fist. He knew what it meant, what the definition was, a brief vague flash of fighting a different target who had 'fugued.' Fugue-state.

He closed his eyes once more, pressing himself against the corner and wall across the room from the targ-, from Rogers.

"I understand," was the only reply he got and he hoped, prayed, wished, that was the only answer for a long time. He could think of so many ways to kill his target-

His head hurt and he knew those eyes were blue and they were concerned – somehow, he was glad.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter was inspired by another one of Joss Whedon's creations, _Firefly – _in particular, "Ariel" where Simon does a brain scan of River's brain and discovers what they've done to his little sister. I was also inspired by the Bourne Trilogy of movies. Musical inspiration is the track "End of the Line" from _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.

To allay your worries – yes, Bucky is seriously messed up. Yes, there is a difference in POVs from Chapter 1 to Chapter 3. There is a _very_ noticeable difference when eventually he interacts with the other Avengers.


	4. Chapter 4

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 4_

His eyes were closed.

His eyes were closed, but they were not asleep. His target was still awake, even through the steady, rhythmic, soft breaths.

This was a test.

_"Was this a test?"_

_ He wanted to laugh as his best friend looked so innocently confused at Colonel Phillips. He could see both Agent Carter and Howard stifling their laughter. Even the Commandos were resisting the urge to laugh and he only stepped forward, clapping a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Yeah, it was a test..."_

They were not uncommon, he knew that; he had to be tested once in a while, to ensure that his skills and his loyalty and targets were killed with precision. Why would they care for his loyalty? The statement had confused him, but it had been said by one of the scientists he remembered touching his skin, fitting the rubber mouthguard into his pliant jaw. He never saw that scientist again, that he was sure of in his hazy memories.

Night had long fallen and he had kept his eyes closed for the most part, seeing without actually seeing, to keep the headache at bay, to keep the pain from spiking. The sound of scratching had resumed as his targ-, as Rogers resumed whatever was sketching- the skyline no doubt – he knew Rogers sketched Central Park after that lucid dream. Even he was not immune to the magnificence of the skyline when he had first woken from the sedatives. Eleven months of watching his target, of moving about, never sleeping in the same place three days in a row; the skyline was still different from every angle.

Now, he knew his target- he knew Rogers to be vulnerable and he curled his hand into a fist. The dull-thick cotton-like feeling of the sedatives had long burned through him, leaving him dry-mouthed and thirsty. But thirst was only a distraction as was the hunger that was slowly gnawing at him. His targ- He closed his eyes as the headache grew in intensity, pressing the cool metal of his thumb against the sinus point in between his eyes. It bloomed back there, and he wanted to dig his fingers in, to rip it out so that he could not _feel_ it anymore – it hurt.

He could almost see himself screaming, lashing out, breaking everything, laughing until the pain was too much to handle, curling in upon himself, because he could not- Because he was- It _hurt_. It hurt like the pain that he had felt, the fear, the anticipation that shook him, the trembling of muscles he could not control-

The scratching sound of pencil against paper had stopped a little while ago, and he had only opened his eyes just then to see that the target's eyes were closed, but was not asleep. It was a test, simple as that. It was a test and he was failing. It was a test and he was succeeding.

It was a test and he was so very confused. It was a test and the pain was spiking. He could easily take the broken metal of the bed and stab it deep into Rogers, make him feel it- He could use the sheets wrapped around himself to hang the target, to choke him to death- The air slowly running out of lungs he knew were very much like his own-

It was a test and he knew he was failing.

It was a test and he knew he was succeeding.

It was a test-

-and he could not breathe.

It was as if something had seized his lungs until he realized it had been himself, suppressing the pain, suppressing _everything_ to try to fight it – to tamp it down because _he could not stand to see his target, could not stand to see Rogers, _sitting so innocently, so naively with eyes closed in the same room as him – ready, _willing – stop putting yourself in such a vulnerable position! - _to die – _I'm with you until the end of the line!_ - he could not die because-

He was his mission-

It was a test and he was-

He tore them apart, the sound of cloth shredding like it was wet tissue paper followed by two steps, a frantic frenetic screech of metal on metal; the sick whine of his arm-

The sweet, blessed relief of pain, actual pain that bloomed where his shoulder joint met the rest of his body on his arm as he smashed through a large tinted window and half of another metal door, followed by a very painful, thudding, concrete-plaster, open air- He twisted and landed metal arm first, absorbing the blow of his landing, bending his knees to absorb the rest of the impact and-

_Breathe_-

He remembered how to work his lungs. Remembered the cool, summer fresh air that tasted like the city-

_Summers were always hot in New York, but this particular one was cooler than average. Not that he was complaining as he glanced at Steve, his friend looking healthier this summer than the last. There was still sweat plastered across his face, but it was not the red-faced exertion that sometimes scared him – that he knew could easily turn into heat-sickness._

One lungful, two, three, continuous lungfuls of air and the pain that had been clawing at him, slowly, oh-so-slowly pulling tight, digging at him, forcing him- He breathed, one-two, in-out- Teeth gritted together as he fought to breathe, fought to inhale the summer-air, _home_. Home.

_Snap_.

It was a test and he knew he succeeded.

It was a test and he had passed the first part.

Something inside of him loosened, a very, very small part, the pain still there, but it had not grown. It was not pressing down upon him, clawing at him, ripping at him. He could imagine it screaming – or had it really screamed? - could imagine it burning through him, but he kept himself breathing. The summer air. New York. Home.

"Well...guess I was right to keep the balcony there instead of removing it," the sardonic voice above registered as his senses prickled at at least three new presences he felt, but he kept himself steady, still, a predator in wait-

His senses prickled as he felt the targ-, felt Rogers' presence join them and tensed. A predator ready to run- He had succeeded in his test – he was failing in his test – he needed to run-

This had been a bad idea, coming here in the first place-

"_Help me..._" the words had been spoken in the feverish pain, the haze of agony that had ripped through his skull, threatening to overwhelm him – it had overwhelmed him – insistent, forceful, demanding he finish his mission. "_You are my mission!"_ it had screamed, he had screamed, was still screaming.

"Steve, I don't think he's going to leave," one of the presence that had not spoken sardonic said and he heard the soft insistent plea within that tone directed at him, even though he was clearly speaking to Rogers.

He dared not look back into those eyes, into his eyes. He knew they were blue, but he was...

_"You're the perfect weapon, fearless, trained to perfection. We need you to train these whelps to the same perfection. Failure will be reflected upon your part. We need you to train them to be fearless-"_

He was...

"_You failed. Kill her."_

_And he did, snapping her neck with cool efficiency, her auburn hair falling forward as she dropped like a rag-doll. He knew that they wanted a lingering pain, to let the others that failure would not be tolerated, but he had trained them and did not settle for anything less than a short quick death. Fearless._

He was not fearless, he was...afraid.

He knew it was a test and he had succeeded.

He knew it was a a test and he had failed.

The verticality of the drop was only two running steps away. The lingering pain would only last several seconds before there would be nothing. His neck would be snapped as efficiently as he had with that girl with the auburn hair. The girl with the red hair had survived, the boy with the brown hair had survived.

The man with the blond-brown hair had survived; his targ-, Rogers had survived. Because...

His eyes had been blue, had been swollen red with blood, and they had not been afraid. "_I'm with you, until the end of the line_."

His eyes were blue and they were concerned.

His eyes were blue and they were concerned and accepted him.

He did not deserve such acceptance and he did not know why. Acceptance was meaningless-

_He didn't understand why Steve readily accepted everyone, except of course, the bullies who always picked on him; why would he accept someone who had all but ignored him being beaten up since they had met in first grade. He didn't understand why he had interfered in third grade – maybe he was sick and tired of seeing little Stevie Rogers, the weak kid with the asthma and all sorts of problems, being picked on. Maybe it was because of his younger siblings that had watched, Becca trying to stop it, begging him to stop them. He had stopped them. But he had not understood why he did it until out of the blue, as they were just kicking stones around, Steve had said that he thought he looked lonely and needed a friend._

_ That had confused him before Steve said that he wore his loner status proud, but would look at all of the others in groups and smile the fake smile he saw on his own mother's face from time to time – pretending to be a part of their group, never really part of them. The smile that said he was screaming inside, that he wanted someone to talk to, wanted a friend. Steve said that he did not get beaten up for him, but rather had made the mistake of telling the bullies to leave his siblings and him alone because his parents worked all day long in the factories._

_ He had called Steve an idiot and said that he only fought them off because the boy would not shut up and mouth off about what was right or wrong. But he never left his side._

"He's going to stay like that for the rest of the night, err, early morning hours?" the sardonic voice spoke up.

"Just leave him be Tony," he did not recognize the voice, quiet, calm, a little to calm at times, almost forced, but he did not know why it was so. It soothed him though, the hint of steadiness in that tone, however faint and however very little words the voice had spoken.

He did not have to turn around to _feel_ the worry that radiated from the targ-, Rogers', presence that mingled with the three others. He could feel their stares on him, judging, evaluating – _targeting him_ – but they made no other moves except for the almost-not-there sound of feet shifting across concrete, broken glass. The pain was bearable now, not stabbing into him like sharp knives that constantly demanded attention, demanded retaliation.

He lifted his arm from the ground, the whine of gears, of power still sickening in his ears – he would have to check it again, but not now – not with the sliver of relief that he had found.

"He'll be...he'll be fine..." he heard Rogers whisper and felt the brush of pain grow and ebb just as quickly as he felt his presence fade away, disappearing back into the Tower. The other three stayed for a few seconds before they too reluctantly headed back in, leaving him outside.

_Snap_.

He knew it was a test and he had passed once more and this time, there was a sense of minute relief.

* * *

Steve stared at the remnants of the ripped out door that used to be Bucky's room, the sparking of wires still hissing their live current. Part of the observation window glass to the science lab next door had been broken, saved by the grace of the plastic-like film that gave it its ability to tint, from completely shattering. He could hear the distant murmurs of a conversation going on below him, courtesy of the hole Bucky had tore through on his leap down to the penthouse floor before crashing through the balcony glass.

He wanted to think that it was his fault for startling Bucky, for staying in the room with him as a constant presence when it was clear that it was _he_ that had been affecting Bucky. But at the same time he knew what he had done, the deliberateness of staying when he could have clearly left. Maybe that would not have brought his best friend to what was the edge of madness – who clearly was fighting something within to stay the urge to kill him with his bare hands.

He had heard the whine of his mechanical arm time and time again, had seen Stark' frown before the quick mutter of how 'sick' it had sounded. He had realized that Bucky's arm was probably still in an unrepairable state, having left it like it had been since their fight in the Helicarrier. Bucky had clearly reset his dislocated shoulder, but now Steve wondered if it had been reset properly, judging by how much it trembled when he had first initially woken up from the sedative by propping himself up.

Had his friend even seen a doctor for the wounds he had given him, for wounds sustained when the Helicarrier crashed into the Potomac? Bucky had huddled in the corner after nearly destroying the room the first time, oddly leaving where he sat untouched, almost as if he could not bear to hurt him; even though he was more than likely not conscious judging by the 'fugue' comment he made before curling into himself. He had seemed to relax a little after Steve had made it a point to start sketching again, wondering if his friend was listening to the sound of his pencil on paper. He really had not much left to finish and so had been adding, erasing, and re-adding details for several hours past the sun setting until even his hand had started to cramp a little from wearing the pencil down to a nub.

Steve had only briefly closed his eyes, hoping to rest them when Bucky had all but bolted out of the room, crashing and tearing his way through broken metal, glass and concrete before breaking another one of Tony's balcony windows by leaping out and landing on the same balcony they had found Thor and Loki fighting back when he invaded New York.

He had not seen much of Bucky's expression, but he had seen a flash of fear, not directed at him, but almost a fear _for_ him – that something had tipped within Bucky, the internal war he was fighting was coming to a head. The noise had certainly woken up, or at least JARVIS had probably alerted the others, of what was happening. They had found him, still crouched where he had landed, an impact crater around him, unmoving and silent.

Steve had to reassure himself that Bucky was not going to leap off the balcony into open air with literally no other building in the direction he was facing that was close enough to land on without killing himself. If he had turned to the right, perhaps the rooftops of Grand Central Station would have resulted in some broken bones, but at least there would be no death. It had been hard speaking the words that he would be fine, feeling like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

But apparently it had been the right thing to say, to walk away and leave Bucky there. He had felt tension that had been coiled around his friend drain away as he left.

Maybe he should have heeded his own advice and stayed away. Clearly he was the cause of this, no matter what Bruce said. It looked to be more than just extremely painful headaches that Bucky suffered in the past few hours seeing him and he did not want to cause his friend anymore pain than had already been done to him. He was not a torturer and this was clearly torture.

"JARVIS?" he called out tiredly, feeling more his ninty-seven years than actual age of twenty-seven.

"Yes Captain?" JARVIS replied politely, though a little distorted due to several wires that had been pulled from the ceiling when Bucky had ripped the metal door apart.

"Is...is he..." he trailed off as he glanced at where Bruce had the holographic monitors up hours earlier.

"He has settled into a meditative position, though near one of the corners to the door.. I believe he is minimizing his profile to any passing satellites or telephoto lenses that may be in the vicinity. However, he has not entered the building since," JARVIS provided helpfully.

"And the files?"

"My decryption protocols have run into several firewalls that require more attention. I have already notified Falcon of the changes and he is aware of the delay," JARVIS replied.

"Thanks JARVIS," Steve felt so tired all of the sudden, the weight of actually seeing Bucky after a year of fruitless searches and now...

"Captain, Agent Hill, is requesting your presence within the penthouse," JARVIS suddenly relayed and Steve nodded before pushing himself off of the door frame and headed to the elevator. He could have easily jumped down, using the hole that Bucky created, but it was rude.

He arrived a few seconds later and stepped out, noting that Bruce was sitting in one of the chairs that looked out towards the balcony, Hill perpendicular to him, but kept her head turned to her left to watch a shadow within a corner outside the balcony that Steve saw was Bucky. He was sitting crosslegged, silvery arm neatly hidden in the shadows when moonlight was clearly showing. He gave no indication that he sensed his presence except for the slight off-sounding whine of his arm that quieted seconds later.

"Drink?" Tony offered behind him and Steve turned to see him pouring three glasses, tilting a fourth one to him. All of them knew his serum-enhanced metabolism burned through alcohol, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless and shook his head a negative.

"Hill," he greeted, taking the couch opposite of her as Tony parceled out the other three drinks.

He expected her to take a sip before talking to him as Bruce and Tony had done so, Tony downing the whole thing in one gulp, but she only looked at him with serious eyes.

"I think the Winter Soldier's been programmed to kill you," Hill stated bluntly, folding her hands in front of her.

Steve blinked, confused. The way she said 'programmed', "Come again?"

"Programmed, like a computer-"

"I got that part, but...how? Why? Can you even do that?" he still was not too sure about how computers worked, especially since Tony had tried to explain the intricacies within it, something about a mother-board - whatever that was - chips, which sounded like, well, potato chips, circuitry that made him think of the blinking lights on the Helicarrier turbine panel he had tried to help Stark repair.

"With the technology out there, no," Hill shook her head, "with the secret technology out there? 0-8-4s and things SHIELD finds, maybe."

"Maybe," he echoed flatly and saw Stark shrug.

"I know the U.S. Government ran research into a 'psychic' division way back in the 1950s and 1960s when the Cold War was heating up with the Soviets, but it was kind of bunk and a failure at the end. There's a movie out there about it, 'The Men Who Stare at Goats'," Tony said, but Steve ignored his half-attempt at humor as did everyone else.

"It was never on record, at least in the files that were released a year ago," Hill continued, "only because it involved one of our top agents. The Agent had apparently been programmed to kill Director Fury back in early 2000s."

"I'm guessing the Agent was caught and killed?" Banner asked, taking a small sip of his drink. He looked haggard and tired and Steve had to briefly wonder how long did Banner stay as the Hulk and fight the Hulk-buster downstairs. He had not felt any vibrations during the last few hours, but it also did not mean that Banner was still angry. It also looked like he had not even gotten a wink of sleep if he had come up from the basement to his suite.

"Caught yes, killed no," Hill said, "it seemed the Agent had been slowly trying to overcome the programming by being constantly in Director Fury's presence whenever possible. We only knew about the programming when the Agent confessed to her S.O. that it would have been easier to have left her in Sao Paulo instead of making a different call."

"Wait a minute..."

"No way..."

"You have to be kidding me," Steve noted that Bruce had his glass halfway to his mouth while Tony had leaned forward, staring at Hill with a expression of open shock. Even he was surprised at Hill's words as the implication set in and he could only let his mouth hang open in surprise.

"Natasha?" he murmured and Hill shrugged.

"It wasn't my call," she said and Steve closed his mouth, frowning as he absorbed what she had said.

Hill had always taken a harder line than Fury during the year and half he had worked for SHIELD. He had heard the rumors and scuttlebutt from various personnel that Hill was efficient as the second-in-command of SHIELD, but also a hard-nosed person who was very by-the-book. She fielded information, collated mission, did everything Fury did, but whenever missions had gone awry, she easily cut her losses and found different avenues to get the information she needed. He had heard that she had loosened up some of her by-the-book rules after Fury had faked Agent Coulson's death to get the Avengers to work together, seemingly finally understanding what it meant to push others in directions that were needed, but she still tried to keep everyone on the moral path. That usually meant traitors were not given a second chance.

He could imagine what she had thought about Natasha attempting to kill Director Fury.

"Barton must have either convinced Fury that she was worth the effort or he had seen something in her, but it was a while, still is, until the day Fury died, that Romanov fought her programming."

Silence fell amongst the group as they realized the implication of her words. That Romanov had been, was still, fighting whatever 'programming' within her. Steve remembered her muttering for Fury not to die on her, not to do this to her. He had thought it was because the two had a close friendship, but perhaps it was something more – maybe Fury's presence had been driving her to fight against whatever command she had been given? Or perhaps it was something else? There had been an ease between the two that one usually attributed to friendship, perhaps even a little bit of familial surrogate father-daughter relationship that Steve had noted, but had it been a lie? A cover? Fury and Natasha were easily the best spies he knew in the business. They both knew how to lie, how to pull the strings, how to say the right words, affect the right emotions to draw in their targets before stealing all of their secrets.

He inwardly shook his head – no, Natasha had clearly proven to him that she was trustworthy, after all they had been through. He knew she had her secrets, heck, he had his own, but this?

"How...how do you know she had been...programmed?" Bruce's expression was pinched as he set his glass down, staring at it with some disgust. It was clearly not digust over the drink, but rather what was being said.

"Our interrogation methods are usually behind one-way windows, usually a trained agent sitting in the room asking the questions relayed through an earpiece. Barton was the one who brought her in instead of killing her so he was the one asking her the questions."

"And you and Fury were watching through the other window," Steve said but Hill shook her head.

"I wasn't Fury's second yet. I was however, watching through the security room as Lead of STRIKE Team Alpha," Hill said and Steve started quietly at the revelation of who had been in charge of the fabled STRIKE Team Alpha. STRIKE Team Delta to whom Brock Rumlow had been in charge of along with the other STRIKE Teams Beta and Charlie had long been modeled after Alpha – an elite unit of para-military combat personnel within SHIELD. He had only estimated that Hill was in her mid-thirties, which meant she had to be in her early twenties when she was in charge of STRIKE Team Alpha.

He saw the slight prideful smile in her eyes before they turned more serious, "Fury broke protocol and deactivated the window's tint. That's when Romanov showed off her skill set. Killed Fury's second, and drew a gun on the Director. Barton had her in his sights, but she didn't shoot the Director."

"I thought she was waiting for Barton to kill her, was actually expecting it, really," Hill hunched forward, though she flicked a quick look at the shadows where Bucky still sat outside, unmoving. "She easily tore through the glass, tore through Richard to get to Fury, and the only thing she did was point a gun at his head and ask why would he expose himself in such a way so that an assassin could get to him."

Hill shook her head, "I'll never forget what Fury said. He said because he believed in her, trusted her. It isn't well known outside of Fury's circle, but Barton was recruited by Fury and was Barton's S.O. so the two trusted each other. I figured that if Fury trusted Barton to make the right call, even if it was a different call, then he trusted Romanov."

"Those are the words of either a naïve man who expects that it'll stop a bullet, or the words of someone who knows something," Hill shook her head, "I never found out, but what I do know is that Romanov gave us a target, The Red Room."

"That wasn't on any of the files JARVIS flagged and data-mined since Romanov uploaded them," Stark pointed out.

"That's because it's never officially existed in SHIELD's missions," Hill smiled bitterly, "side project of Fury's, Barton's, and Romanov's. I only knew about it when Fury appointed me his second a few years later, coordinating the official SHIELD missions with side ones that enabled the two to go Red-hunting."

"That doesn't explain how you know Bucky was programmed-"

"Because that wasn't the first time Romanov tried to kill Fury. She had a skill set that was invaluable to us and also deadly if used against us. She has ranked the highest in all of SHIELD's espionage scores."

"So you thought she was still making a play for Fury, just waiting, biding her time," Banner rubbed his chin as he sat back, "and she probably did, right?"

"Every single time she was reporting to the Director," Hill shook her head a little, "overt the first few times, but slowly masking her reactions behind her skill set over the years. You can't see it now unless you knew what you were looking for."

"Barton, he knew right?"

"He knew," Hill confirmed, "he watched and he believed that she was getting over her programming, even though I thought she was getting better at hiding it. It could have been both, but I wasn't convinced until we actually found proof of the Red Room and destroyed it. We got a bunch of their notes about the experiments they were running and whatever else they were doing.

"The note were concise and spoke of years and years of experiments on implantation of thoughts, false memories, of data and information. They were trying to create specific soldiers, assassins, politicians, anyone and everyone – tailor made, but the best they could do was just program targets. However, it also spoke of degradation of these commands after a while. They aren't specific and are mostly vague, but they did note that sometimes the programming got corrupted, like a harddrive being corrupted after a period of long use, abuse, or just generally too much clutter, not enough to format or do anything with the harddrive itself."

"The tech we found was only useful to a certain extent; it looked like they had a moment's notice before we raided the facility and tried to destroy as much as they could. Most of it was cataloged and sent up to the Slingshot."

"Slingshot?"

"Program designed to send advance tech that is otherwise too dangerous to high orbit around the Earth," Steve supplied to Bruce's question.

"It's fake," Hill said and Steve blinked, staring at her in surprise, "I wouldn't be surprised if most of that tech now was in HYDRA's hands, or out in the internet. Slingshot was designed to give people within SHIELD who didn't have clearance or accidentally knew about it a peace of mind."

Steve drew in a steady breath and let it out slowly, a little more than angry at how much he had been _lied_ to, even after all that had happened.

"We had been trying to reverse engineer it, partially to help Romanov, partially because we thought it would be easier to make enemy spies more agreeable to telling us what we needed to know without having to resort to torture."

"That's a form of torture," Stark bit out quietly, but Steve picked up at the anger hidden deep within.

"It's all useless now," Hill shrugged again, giving both of them looks that said that she understood they were angry, but to her it was water under the bridge, "but we did learn about the varied habits when programming broke down. It seems like most of the time, they weren't successful, but the times they were, their subjects more often than not, had their minds fried."

"Not, literally, right?"

"No, but they did end up in mental institutions," Hill said, "we visited a couple of patients who were on the list of experimental subjects. Fury wanted to know more about the Red Room's programming and how Romanov factored in."

"But Natasha is...sane, at least for an assassin," Stark picked his glass up, but set it back down with a face of disgust when he realized he had downed it all before. He took a quick glance back at the bar, but made no other moves to get up and get himself another shot.

"And the only one...until he showed up," Hill jerked her head towards where Bucky was sitting. She reached out her hand and pushed the glass across the long coffee table, towards Steve. "Your friend's been programmed, Captain, and it's definitely Red Room work."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

My version of the fabled Red Room is going to be different than the comics – to be honest, I actually don't really remember most of what I read regarding the Red Room, except that it involved Bucky, Natasha, and a few others (it's been a while). I'm really hoping that Marvel will introduce the Red Room with the newly announced Black Widow movie (at least on IMDb), but for now, this is my version. The Red Room is more like Bourne's Project Treadstone and Blackbriar than the actual Red Room.

Also, I read somewhere that a screenshot of Bucky's Smithsonian exhibit wall in the movie states he's the oldest of four siblings or something like that – so I kind of put into a flashback a mention of one of those siblings, Becca.


	5. Chapter 5

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 5_

"Could HYDRA have been funding the Red Room then?" Steve took the glass Hill had slid towards him and held it, but did not drink it. He certainly appreciated the gesture, his head spinning with this new information about Romanov, about Bucky potentially having the same programming as her, everything.

"Not a far-reaching guess given that they've all but incited the Cold War," Hill said, folding her hands together in a very Fury-like posture. "We know that there are definitely other Red Room cells, after Romanov and Barton destroyed the first one and based on the ramblings of the others. But we couldn't spare the time to search for them, not as extensively after, well, after Thor showed up really."

Tony snorted softly and looked troubled for a moment shaking his head at something private before grabbing his glass and walking over to the bar. Steve did not need to look back to hear the clinking of cabinets and glass before Tony stalked back and thumped a large decanter of amber-looking liquid down onto the table and set another glass in front of Hill. He then downed another shot of the liquid that Steve thought smelled like really good scotch.

"Steve, based on what we know about Romanov's programming and based on what I've seen so far with the Winter Soldier-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted quietly. He would never refer to his friend as the codename given to him by HYDRA. Everyone else could call him the Winter Soldier, but to him, he was and always will be Bucky.

"Sergeant Barnes," Hill compromised easily, but still leveled him with a look, "there are signs he's fighting the programming from within."

"He's destroyed at least the annex room and punched holes through a couple of windows," Tony absently gestured to the penthouse area and vaguely where Bucky still sat. Steve could not tell if his friend was sleeping or awake, having blended far better into the shadows than he thought possible. He only knew Bucky was still there was the small glint of metal on his finger tips from the faint moonlight.

"He hasn't tried to kill any of you, yet," Hill shrugged, unfolding her hands and taking the empty glass and rolling it around her palms.

"Wait, huh?" Bruce leaned forward, "but I thought Steve would have been the target? Sorry..."

Steve waved off the apology, "Was about to ask the same question myself."

"For a threat assessment, since Captain Rogers moved in here, every single Avenger and ex-SHIELD personnel in here is considered collateral damage if Sergeant Barnes was actually targeting him," Hill said, staring at all of them with a serious look, "it was how Romanov came onto SHIELD's radar in the first place. We figured out that her target had been a double agent KGB spy who was selling secrets to a third party, except the KGB spy was a school teacher."

"Oh geez," Tony breathed out quietly at the implications of her statement and Steve grimaced a little at the unspoken collateral damage Natasha must have inflicted to get to her target.

Hill, to her credit, looked a little queasy at the mention of Romanov's past, but managed to push aside her discomfort, "We didn't figure out the Red Room connection until Romanov was caught and brought in by Barton and the whole Red-hunt started. We had files and mission reports on people who had been trained like Romanov. Sometimes they would eliminate a single target in a crowd, sometimes they would take the crowd with them. It depended on the circumstances and how they needed to stage the accident or crime scene."

"So Bucky wasn't targeting me?"

"He is," she shook her head and glanced to her left before looking back at them, "but he's definitely fighting it. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation with him sitting there."

"So him kind of breaking glass, breaking furniture, breaking pretty much everything is him fighting the urge to kill Steve?" Tony looked unsure, "but how...how does that work? I mean, don't they just get a target name and do what they want to do?"

"Tony, you've been watching too many spy movies. This isn't James Bond or Jason Bourne-"

"Sure as hell is starting to feel like the Bourne movies," Tony muttered to Bruce's protest and Steve glanced between them but saw Tony wave an absent hand at him. "Those are movies you _don't _need to see Cap. A little too close to the subject matter."

Steve frowned, but looked at Bruce as he shook his head. "Agent Hill, could I guess that Bucky's 'programming' so to speak, explain why he doesn't remember anything? I mean, it could explain why his brain has dark spots, especially in the lobes I showed you earlier."

"Maybe?" Hill shook her head, "the notes we found didn't go into detail, and Romanov was reluctant to speak of her time in the Red Room when it wasn't exactly relevant. Barton probably knows more, but he's been incommunicado even before SHIELD went down."

"I told him he had a place here if he got sick of SHIELD," Tony frowned, "he didn't have to up and quit like that. I mean, he liked the top floor for crying out loud. Would have had a nice place in security detail for him too at S.I."

"Barton does what he wants," Hill shrugged, "as for your question Doctor, I'm not sure. It didn't seem like Romanov experienced memory loss, just talked about an insistent pain that was like drilling into her brain to kill Director Fury. The first few times, she stopped herself by destroying equipment and things near the Director. The less things she destroyed as time went on, the better they thought she was getting better."

"I'm sensing a 'but' in there," Tony poured himself a half measure from the decanter and sipped it instead of throwing it all back.

"Fury wanted to try something," Hill shook her head and Steve understood the feeling of resignation she had whenever Fury did something reckless. Even though the Director was technically dead to everyone, he had a feeling that Fury was always in contact with Hill and probably with Coulson, planning their missions against HYDRA, protecting the world even though SHIELD did not exist anymore.

"He let himself be vulnerable to see what Romanov would do," Hill's lips flattened, "and she took out at least half of STRIKE Alpha before we managed to subdue her. Almost even took out Nick himself with that reckless stunt of his."

"So she wasn't getting better?" Bruce asked.

"She didn't kill any members of STRIKE Alpha if you want to call that getting better, but she did give a lot of them an early retirement or promotion to desk work."

Steve chewed his lower lip as he glanced to his right where Bucky still sat in the shadows, unmoving. He could almost imagine his friend staring through the windows, evaluating him like a target. It was disconcerting to say the least, especially since they had watched each others' backs since childhood. He understood what Hill was saying and knew that his previous attempt to close his eyes, to rest them had obviously agitated Bucky. His friend must have fought the need to kill him while his eyes were closed, a predator seeing his prey falter in his vigilance and thus plowed through everything to break the urge or even to get away.

But the fact that Bucky had stayed, had not run away meant something to him. Hill clearly saw Bucky as a predator, lying in wait to ambush him on the pretense of asking him for help, staying close, even generally acting like he was trying to fight the Red Room programming. Steve wanted to say he saw otherwise – that Bucky had _asked_ and pleaded for help, that he was trying so hard to break free from whatever demons had plagued him, that he was remembering enough to know that he was an ally. But at the same time he also knew that there was still the killer instinct in his friend, seemingly burned into his brain because of some technology that enabled the Red Room assassins to never forget their target.

"What did Romanov say after she had killed her targets? I mean, was there relief?"

"Steve-"

"I'm not saying what you think I may be saying, Tony, Bruce," he glanced at his friends, both whom had slightly horrified looks on their faces, "I just want to know if after they killed their targets, the pain, whatever's driving them to do that is gone?"

"That...I don't know," Hill grimaced, "sorry...I...we, never really asked. I mean, I don't know and I didn't ask Fury if he had asked..."

"Would Coulson know?" the last he had heard from Natasha was three months ago and that was only through a message left to Coulson before she had disappeared off the grid once more.

"I can ask," she replied with a small nod, "he knows about Romanov's past and Red-hunting. I think that's what she's doing right now with her limited resources."

"Makes sense," Tony shrugged, "especially with her covers blown." He downed the rest of his third glass and poured himself a fourth before gesturing with it to where Bucky still sat in the shadows, "So what do we do about him?"

"He asked for my help and I'll be damned if I don't give it to him," Steve glanced over at Tony who held his hands up as if to ward away any undue hostility.

"We get that, but seriously, if what Hill says is true, I'm just saying, if he's going to end up gunning for you, it means either we have to sedate him so all of us can get sleep or we figure something out."

"Don't look at me, we had guards on Romanov," Hill shook her head.

"I can take watch," Steve volunteered, looking at his friends and noting that they all looked tired, worn, and strung out. He had stayed up for far longer during the war, even during the Chitauri invasion three years ago after the portal had been closed. The primary excuse had been to ensure that his fellow New Yorkers were not harmed by the leftover weaponry, but mostly to ensure that Tony was doing fine after nearly dying sending the nuke into space.

"Steve-"

"I've done it before," he set his jaw, staring at Bruce who looked worried, "I won't make the same mistake again." He looked at the others before Tony nodded reluctantly.

"JARVIS can point out where the coffee beans are for a fresh pot," he pushed himself up from the couch, taking the decanter with him after Bruce shook his head a negative for a refill and Hill declined by covering her empty glass. "Whiskey's behind the bar, in the back for some Irish Coffee if you really want it."

"I'll be in my office if you need anything," Hill cracked a small smile as she stood up and stretched, "can't really sleep anyway, not after this. I'll put out some feelers to some of the other former SHIELD agents who may know more about the Red Room."

"Thanks Maria," Steve said as Bruce also got up, finishing his glass before setting it in the empty sink next to where Tony left his. He didn't say anything except to nod a goodnight and headed into the elevator that Steve noted was going down. All of their suites were upstairs from the main floor penthouse and he had a feeling that Bruce needed to work out some more steam as the Hulk downstairs.

Silence reigned in the penthouse, broken by the sounds of the never-sleeping New York City that filtered through the shattered windows as Steve finally hunched over and stared at the half-filled glass that Hill had left for him. Drinking it would be a waste. Not drinking it would also be a waste. He knew he did not necessarily have to keep 'watch' not with JARVIS around, but he also knew that there was the potential of Bucky not reacting well to no one keeping an eye on him.

He sighed quietly and scratched the back of his neck before deciding to push the drink aside and reached over to the side of the couch he was sitting on. Pulling out one of his doodling notepads and a box of pencils, he settled himself down again and started to sketch.

It was a habit he had adopted when he was very young, to keep a pad of paper and a pencil on him; almost like a reporter kept a notebook and pen on hand. Sometimes it was the scraps of newspapers that was discarded to the side, sometimes it was the gummed notepad that one of the chorus girls had picked up for him. He thought he had kept it mostly to himself, keeping a spare pad and box of pencils, 4H to 4B one in his regular military bag, one in his bedroom suite, and one in the penthouse – because mostly for the spectacular view it offered – but it seemed that his habit had not gone unnoticed after he found the pad and pencil in Bucky's room.

Steve was still not too sure if the sounds of his sketching calmed Bucky down because it was familiar to him, but at the same time he could easily extrapolate that his best friend had not even moved one inch during the times he had sketched. It was something very different than the Bucky he remembered before and during the war. His friend would always peer over his shoulder and try to see what he was drawing, always nosing about to the point where Steve sometimes hid his sketches or sketched whenever he thought Bucky was not awake in the dingy apartment they had shared for a couple of years before Bucky had enlisted.

He absently reached over and flicked on the lamp next to the couch, dimming it automatically to not blind himself with the light, but at least give him enough to see what he was sketching in the inky early morning hours of New York City. He settled himself in for what was probably a very long night once more.

* * *

Tony knew he was not a super soldier or had any special serum running through him in order to stay awake past the forty-eighth hour – even he had his limits. But when the morning lights cracked through the shades in his bedroom chased by the sounds of distant morning traffic on the FDR, he had all but given up on sleep and tossed the blankets aside.

"JARVIS time?" he scrubbed his eyes as he wandered to the bathroom and cleaned up.

"Five forty-three in the morning sir," JARVIS replied, "it has only been three and half hours since you retired, twenty-eight hours since you had last slept."

"Yeah, let's just keep that to ourselves, hmm?" he muttered absently a few minutes later after his quick shower and put on some comfortable clothes. "No meetings right?"

"Not for today, sir. You told me to clear your schedule when Sergeant Barnes arrived yesterday."

"Yeah," he vaguely remembered doing that as he had tinkered with the Mk. III after finding out from Bruce just how messed up Steve's long-lost best friend was from whatever HYDRA had been doing to him. He had called Pepper and talked to her, mostly about nothing, but wanting to hear her voice for reassurance. He could not imagine finding Rhodey or even Pepper in such a state and was so grateful that she at least understood what he had been rambling about.

But that phone call had been cut short when JARVIS had alerted him of the Winter Soldier's erratic behavior before he had dashed up from his workshop in time to see him plowing through the penthouse glass onto the balcony once more.

"Crap..." he realized that he had forgotten to call Pepper back and tell her that everything was fine as he opened the door and stepped out to his suite.

"I notified Ms. Potts as soon as the situation seemed under control sir," he grinned at JARVIS' reply to his unspoken worry.

He crossed the suite and headed to the elevator, taking it down and exiting to see Steve still on the couch where he had left him last night, drawing pad out and seemingly hard at work sketching.

"Hey," he called out as he headed to the espresso machine and made himself a double shot, feeling the buzz immediately wipe away the slight fuzzy stuffed-in-the-head feeling he always got after drinking one too many scotches and whiskey. It was the higher quality he had dug out last night, or a few hours ago, depending on how he wanted to figure it out in his head.

"It's-"

"Nearly six," he said, "rise and shine Cap." He saw Steve swivel his head towards the mechanical clock he had one the wall, an old fashioned cuckoo one he had rebuilt a while ago, but didn't exactly fit into the décor of his Malibu home. He had shut the cuckoo part off when he had rebuilt it, remembering how annoying it was growing up with it in his parents' house.

He saw Steve blink, rubbing his eyes a bit before looking outside as if he could not believe that the sun was already rising before tracking to the corner where the Soldier had all but tucked himself away in after everything. He was still managing to keep himself in the shadows, but his silvery metal arm revealed his location easily and if Tony squinted from where he was, he thought he could see the man's slightly unnerving dead-eyed, blank gaze focused on him – or rather Steve who was sitting on the couch in front of him.

Even from his vantage point, he could tell that Steve was the one who was emotionally wrung out, exhausted, and generally miserable. His normally stoic appearance and professional demeanor was gone, replaced by a hunched look that Tony was too familiar with, anger and blame warring inside him that conflicted with helplessness of a request. Tony had a pretty good idea that Steve wanted to help, but did not know how to go about helping his best friend when clearly the Winter Soldier seemed to lose all coherency or at least semblance of self-control and impulse not to kill him around him.

Tony frowned as he sipped on his second double shot before making his decision and heaped several measured spoonfuls of ground beans into the coffee pot that was built into his espresso machine and flicked the switch. "Cap, I'll take over. Go get something to eat, breakfast, whatever. Run, do something, you need a break."

"But-"

"Pick something up for me too, will ya? I want a breakfast sandwich with bacon, egg, and a hash brown in between. Make sure it's a plain bagel, I hate poppy or sesame – stuff in the teeth you know. I guess get Bruce one too, probably Hill too if she's coming up from her office any time soon." He knew that the fridge stocked behind him was full of the ingredients, Steve making food constantly to feed his enhanced metabolism, but he also knew that Steve needed a break from all of this.

"Tony-"

"I want breakfast," Tony smirked at the look Steve was giving him that he clearly knew what he was doing, "besides, I think I make a fair babysitter, right JARVIS?"

"Clearly," he glared up at JARVIS' sarcasm and saw Steve smile tiredly before pushing himself up from the couch and sticking his drawing pad and box of special pencils – Tony never really understood what the difference was between 4H and 4B pencils – and giving the Soldier a indiscernible look before walking to the elevator to most likely either get his wallet and leave or to head straight downstairs.

"See you in a few _hours_!" Tony called out, making sure to emphasize the last word as the elevator closed behind Steve. He glanced back to the Winter Soldier, he still did not feel comfortable calling him Barnes when he was still clearly a wound up human weapon, and saw that his eyes had tracked Steve's movement before fixing on him. The Soldier clearly understood that he was now his keeper and watcher, but Tony also saw the minute sense of relaxation after Steve had left.

That was very interesting.

The soft beep of the espresso machine alerting him that the pot of coffee was ready made him pull out a mug and pour a cup. He decided against putting any sugar or milk in it, settling for a pinch of salt in the cup instead. He vaguely remembered it was how his father liked it, citing something about "how the Navy boys liked it" during one of the many times he had apparently searched for Cap in the oceans during his childhood. It was one of the few things about his father that had stuck with him, distance and coldness aside, and he figured it was probably because most human beings he knew took their coffee black, sugar, or with milk and/or cream. He happened to drink it any way just as long as it had caffeine in it.

He took the piping hot mug and rounded the kitchenette-bar heading out to the balcony, gingerly stepping over the broken glass before cautiously approaching the Winter Soldier. "So," he started, a tight smile drawn across his face, feeling a lot like how he had confronted Loki when he had been on a homicidal rage trying to destroy New York. He set the cup of coffee down by the Soldier's foot, taking a step back from the sharp look that he was getting from Bucky.

"It's not poisoned," he saw him eye the cup before looking back at him those eyes narrowing fractionally, assessing him. He would have glibly offered a drink to the Soldier like he had with Loki, but the difference was that the Soldier had not tried to kill him – so far. If there was any chance of that or if it happened, _then_ he would probably offer that drink.

He must have passed as the Soldier finally moved, leaning forward to pick up the piping hot mug with his flesh-and-blood hand and took an experimental sip. He knew he could have easily asked JARVIS to make him a pot before he had even stepped out to the main living area of the penthouse, but Tony was not stupid. He still stood by his assessment that the Winter Soldier _knew_ what he had been doing when he finally made his appearance in the Tower. He was observant, constantly calculating things, and most definitely _not_ ignorant about how people behaved – except probably whenever Steve was near by, but Tony chalked it up to Red Room shenanigans.

If he had JARVIS make the coffee, then he suspected the Soldier would have ignored it. But since he had been observed to make the coffee personally, it must have proved something or changed the Winter Soldier's assessment of him. Tony was no stranger to assassination attempts since he had become Iron Man – most of them trying to shoot or blow him up – there were the rare ones that tried to slip a knife into him while he was out of the suit or try to on one memorable occasion, poison him. He had laughed, wondering what century it was until Thor said that it was very common in the Courts of Asgard.

That particular one had been stopped by Natasha, Barton, and Fury with both master assassins giving him lessons in identification of common poisons in the aftermath. He didn't really remember most of it, but what he got out of it was to watch someone carefully if they were preparing foodstuffs or any drinks. He figured if the master spies operated on that assumption, then so would someone like the Winter Soldier; especially after learning what Hill had told all of them last night.

"Navy style," Tony said as he let his smile relax a fraction as the Soldier took another sip, clearly enjoying it even though his expression was still blank. "Dad used to drink it like that after the war while he was out looking for your long lost friend there." He wondered how much of James Buchanan Barnes had resurfaced over the past year, if he remembered working with his father Howard during the war. Sometimes when his father mentioned Steve, there would be the occasional mention of his best friend Bucky, most about how the two were inseparable and constantly played pranks on the other Commandos and also sometimes on the upper echelons of the SSR. They had been harmless pranks according to his father, lightening moods whenever they got reports of a bad HYDRA attack or horrific loss of life in one of the theatres.

Tony did not really remember most of those stories, but he did remember sitting patiently as his father had told the stories, because it was the only time that he had ever seen his father with something other than a stern, cold expression. The fact that Steve had not really played a prank, or at least none that he knew about spoke a lot about his adjustment to 21st century life and also his more serious mental state. Sure Steve laughed and joked on occasion the Avengers were together, but Tony could see that his friend was still adjusting, even now, three and half years after being defrosted.

"Maria Hill thinks you're a Red Room agent," Tony started, finding it a little unnerving to be under such a steady gaze as he finished his second double shot and began to roll the tiny cup in his hands, "which I have no idea what the hell it means, but if she's mentioning Natasha Romanov in it as well as you, probably means all deadly-assassin-ninja thing.

"You know what, JARVIS, can you do a search parameter of anything and everything that is Red Room. Take the porn crap out because there's bound to be stuff like that floating around," he said before giving the Soldier a quick grin, "JARVIS is the Tower's A.I., artificial intelligence, er, computer, uh...non-sentient being-"

"I know," the Winter Soldier cut him off softly and Tony narrowed his gaze – was that a smirk playing around the corner of his lips?

"Huh," he blinked a few times and laughed lightly before unceremoniously taking a seat on the ground. He suppressed a shudder at how _cold_ the concrete was, even as he could feel the beginnings of the summer humidity rising with the sun. "So you _can _talk."

He only received a look that he brushed off with another chuckle, "So you know about JARVIS or about what an A.I. is?"

"There were already rumors about the Avengers Tower being guarded by a sophisticated computer program. After the alien invasion, it would have been prudent to upgrade those security measures with invisible defenses that disabled access entirely. Sight recognition would have been installed as well as countermeasures to deploy against known aggressors.

"Your association with SHIELD meant a database of enemies against the occupants of the Tower. The release of the files meant a new internal database was to be created against new enemies as well as old. However, your security could not compromise the publicity efforts of the Avengers themselves as a deterrent to your enemies as well as your own country," the Winter Soldier said coolly, his voice scratchy as if he was not used to talking at length.

"Seems like you know everything," Tony replied, staring at him, "got that from HYDRA?"

"Internet cafe down in Chinatown on Elizabeth Street," the Soldier blinked once and Tony nodded.

"The things you can find researching the internet these days," he muttered as he shook his head, "and here I thought you knew what you were doing. If you wanted in, all you had to do was just show yourself to security you know...not climb several stories in the vents."

Tony only received another cool look from the Soldier before continuing, "See here's how I see it – you only show up now because you either remember something really jarring about Steve, or you need help and know about the Avengers. Maybe both, maybe one of those options. Or maybe even a third option to just kill all of us because your memory's so shot that you don't know who's the enemy and who are the good guys. I'm thinking probably not considering that I just fed you really good coffee and you haven't killed me yet with your Terminator arm.

"I'm also thinking that you heard everything last night, because if it was something Hill didn't want you hearing, there are plenty of other rooms in the Tower," he rolled the empty espresso cup around his palms again, "so I'm going with the first two options."

He saw the Soldier's eyes narrow a little, evaluating him again and met that gaze with one of his own, unafraid, unwilling to back down. He would be damned if something in the man formerly known as James Buchanan Barnes had cracked and all of this was an attempt to kill Steve on his watch. There was always the small possibility, but Tony refused to give up on it.

"You're like Howard," the Soldier finally said and Tony blinked, surprised. That was _not_ the answer he was expecting and felt a flash of anger mixed with resentment bubbling in him. Ever since he had found out that his parents had been killed by HYDRA he had tried to push it out of his mind; tried not to think of the last years that he knew his father and how jaded he had sounded, how angry he was at times. "You break the rules."

_That_ got a laugh out of him, breaking the bubble of anger and resentment as he grinned, "Yeah, never liked the rule book." He wanted to ask how much he remembered of his father, but decided against it – not for reasons regarding how much Barnes was remembering, but rather he did not want to hear anything about his father. Fury's revelations about his father helping found SHIELD and all sorts of other things back when he had just become Iron Man had ripped open a wound that had been festering and it was something Tony shied away from.

"So, which one is it? A memory of Steve that pretty much drew you here and exposed you or the fact that you need our help? And if you need our help, I'm also guessing that there are probably people out there looking for you. Smart of you to figure out what floor was RFID proofed so that no one could realize that you were there except for the internal security measures. Your clothes are worn, mostly what you see on homeless people, which means you are avoiding detection and I really hope you didn't kill some person for them, otherwise I'd say they're worn in for a while.

"I mean, it's not really a secret that Steve lives here, being Captain America and all, and the museum downstairs is a public tourist attraction, but don't you super assassins have some safe house or something you can go to if your cover is compromised?" he wondered out loud before the answer hit him a second later, "no, wait, don't answer that, I got it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Soldier, no, saw Barnes with a look that told him the clearly continue in the most sarcastic sense, "People _are_ looking for you, otherwise you'd probably be at the safe houses right? Yeah, probably one too many spy movies, spy novels, whatever, but it makes sense..."

He turned back to Barnes, "So, which option is it?"

"I need the name of a man whose face I see," Barnes' voice was sounding a lot less like chairs dragged across floors and more human as he took another sip of his coffee, "I _remember _the targ-..._him_...being able to draw."

"And no other sketch artist in Times Square or whatever is able to do this," Tony muttered shaking his head as he flipped the small porcelain cup from hand to hand, "yeah, I kind of get it, 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' deal. Smart of you to come to your enemy and pretend to be friends."

This time there was a more visible reaction as Tony saw Barnes grip on the mug tighten, enough to send hairline cracks across it, but not enough to break it. _That_ was what he was looking for and smiled a little at the dark look the Soldier shot at him. "Hey pal, it's not like you were judging me earlier. Only fair that I feel you out."

"We are not," the Soldier's lips twisted on the word, "'friends.'"

"Then definitely a means to an end," Tony knew he was treading a dangerous line here, judging by how cold those eyes had gone again, staring at him with a shuttered blankness, but the fact that the Winter Soldier had made no other move told him as much. But then again, he supposed that sitting this close to him, the Soldier could easily kill him without moving much. He gave him a quick smile, the ones reserved for politicians and government subpoenas, "I bet you didn't foresee this whole little issue when Steve showed up, about your programming or whatever's happening in your brain, kicking in right?"

The Soldier only stared at him, silent again.

"Or maybe you did, but decided the risk was worth the reward of going after whatever target is floating in your lost memories. Maybe you remember parts of your old life, especially enough to know that Steve is a really, like _really_ good artist. The money he can make off of his works can set him up with his own studio for three lifetimes. Maybe you knew about him and Bird Boy Wilson searching for you all this time and something finally clicked, I don't know. What I do know is that my friend is _hurting_, even if he'll never, ever show it, and you're the cause."

"Ah," he held his hand up in a warning to silence the Soldier, "You're not the first half-baked psychotic we had to deal with, I've had the pleasure of dealing with Thor and his brother issues, but I'll be damned if you try to even hurt Steve again. You're a bully."

The mug shattered and it was all Tony did to not flinch from it being thrown onto the ground in between them.

"I...was going...to ask him to stop...searching," the cold, blank look was gone, replaced by something that he could not identify but sounded horribly broken underneath, "was going to identify the target and location."

Tony swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, "He's not going to give up, you know."

"I've seen that," Barnes looked at him and in that instantly, Tony realized that the Winter Soldier had been watching them all along; watching Steve come in and out of the Tower for a very long time, maybe even the whole damn year since SHIELD was dissolved, watch him go out with fresh leads, return with empty hands; watch him go out and fight the battles with the Avengers and return to tirelessly continue his search for his long-lost best friend. All this time, he watched and did _nothing_, until now.

He thought back to what Barnes had said, about remembering Steve's ability to draw and a face in his memories that he could not identify. "You are trying to remember," he breathed out quietly, the pieces fitting together in his mind, "something about...what, location? Who you are? What?"

"How and why they made me," Barnes interrupted quietly, lifting his silvery prosthetic arm and Tony winced at the faint mechanical whine that sounded like machinery in agony to his ears. "That much I can figure out..."

"And use Stark Industries' resources to figure out the target Steve's going to sketch," he added and saw Barnes tilt his head fractionally, "certainly the right place..." He stopped tossing the cup from hand to hand, "You know Steve's going to follow you after you get your information right?"

Barnes nodded stiffly as if unused to doing such a casual thing, "I know. He never did learn how to back down from a fight he couldn't win." A curious look flitted briefly across his face before it was shuttered and Tony wondered if Barnes had remembered something. The mind was a curious thing and Bruce was still trying to figure out what had been done to Barnes' brain.

"Whoever this target is, sitting in your head, must be someone pretty important or HYDRA related," Tony briefly stretched his arms, "I'm guessing you don't mind us being the cavalry on this hunt of yours?"

The soft snort confirmed his thoughts – Barnes remembered something, but also was realizing that he needed help in whatever one-man crusade he was hoping to jump start. By this time, Tony had a pretty good idea that Barnes had the intention of asking for Steve's help in a sketch or whatever, using S.I.'s resources, and letting the Avengers be the spear for him while he started his own hunt. The only snag in this plan was more than likely his Red Room based programming kicking in, crippling him in severe pain whenever Steve was in the vicinity.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Tony gestured to his metal arm, "You should get that looked at."

Barnes only stared at him before haltingly opening his mouth, "It...did not end well the last time someone looked at it."

Tony gave him a tight smile as he stood up, feeling a few bones pop on his lower spine as he stretched, "I'd like to think I'm better than most people." He liked a challenge and hoped that the Winter Soldier would be agreeable.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Two fics of trying to stop Tony Stark from taking over with his POV and I've failed on the third fic. (sigh) Upside, at least Bucky is...talking ish. Mostly just quiet and stuff, but still... I also forgot to mention what else I'm cribbing from to 'program' Bucky. Star Wars' _Heir to the Empire_ (Mara Jade and the Emperor's last command to her) and _X-Wing_ book series (Lusankya facility) are definitely inspirations as is _Bourne's_ Project Treadstone and Blackbriar as well as _Firefly's_ River Tam.

**Also, as of note, Red Room/Project Black Widow – **_**The Trickster Universe**_** and fics associated with this series are movie-verse only (and like the movies, will not mention mutants, X-Men, or anything that is not Marvel Cinematic Universe-rights owned). Anything related to the Red Room is an adaptation of the comics-verse to how I could theoretically see it in the movies.**

Secondary note: It's been a while since I've read any of the comic storylines, so I'm working with a faulty memory regarding the Red Room. I'll do my due diligence and research, but like I said, it's an adaptation so certain elements will make it in, other elements discarded.


	6. Chapter 6

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 6_

It was quiet as the elevators opened and Steve stepped out, having finished his morning run around Manhattan Island, across the Brooklyn Bridge and back, before finally picking up breakfast at the nearby bagel shop he knew Tony occasionally frequented. Tony had been right, he needed a run to clear his head and wake himself up after all that had happened the previous day and night. There had been something soothing about not really thinking except the rhythmic pounding of pavement and occasional joggers that waved to him on his run.

He had already showered and changed into fresher clothes before descending to the quiet penthouse floor with his bag of breakfast sandwiches, picking two extra ones for Bucky in case his friend was hungry. He did not know if he would eat it, but hoped that it would be taken as a measure of kindness.

Even though he had mostly emptied his mind about all that had happened during his run, he had kept the thought that Bucky had sought him out in his mind. One of the first things that Sam had said to him when they began the search a year ago was that his friend would be different and Steve had readily agreed. He knew that they had all gone through war and hell and that things were different, but he had also told Sam that even if Bucky was not the same Bucky he remembered, he at least had to try – to help him regain a semblance of himself instead of the shell he was.

He was not naïve enough to think that Bucky would be the best friend he had grown up with and fought the war with, the war and everything that was after it left their scars. But he was willing to help Bucky cope and be there for him. That was all that mattered.

"Tony?" he called out as he walked into the main living area and froze. The sun was already up now, the humidity and heat wafting in from the broken windows, warring with the central air conditioning of the area. But the place where Bucky had been sitting was empty. "JARVIS?!"

"Sir and Sergeant Barnes are in Sir's workshop," JARVIS replied and Steve blinked, surprised before concern washed over him.

"Is, uh-"

"Sergeant Barnes is apparently allowing Sir to work on his arm," for an artificial intelligence, Steve thought he heard a bit of a miffed wonderment in his mechanized British-accented voice. The fact that JARVIS was as surprised as he spoke volumes as to two things: one – mainly Bucky's mental state when he _was not_ around, two – Bucky's mental state when he _was_ around. Steve did not know how to quell the sudden disquiet that filled him at that revelation and tightened his grip a little on the paper bag he was carrying full of foodstuffs.

"Captain-"

"Steve, JARVIS," he said absently, still processing the revelation, as he reminded the A.I. to call him by his first name several times since he had moved into the Tower.

"Captain," the artificial intelligence insisted, apparently still ignoring his request, "Dr. Banner requests your presence in his lab."

"The one Bucky was in?" he headed back to the elevator.

"No sir, his other lab," JARVIS replied as Steve nodded and pressed the button to take him to the floor that also housed Bruce's suite of rooms. He had only been down in Bruce's lab twice since moving in, finding it full of liquids, papers, books, anything and everything that made it look like one giant science experiment akin to Tony's metal and electronics-filled workshop and just as messy. He had no doubts that Bruce was constantly working on more research about the super soldier serum and how to turn himself back to normal, but on more than one occasion, there were other projects he was working on.

"Thanks JARVIS," he said and arrived on the designated floor a few seconds later. Stepping out, he headed down the hall to see that Hill and Bruce were in Bruce's lab, both with their backs turned to him staring at what looked like a project monitor of sorts.

Knocking politely on the glass, he saw them look up and opened the door into the lab. "I brought food?"

Both their faces broke out into smiles before Maria walked over and took the bag from him, opening it up and digging around before handing over to Bruce a breakfast sandwich with his name on it and taking one with hers on it.

"Thanks, I ate a breakfast bar earlier, but this is definitely needed," Hill put the bag on top of some empty petri dishes, "the others are for Stark and Sergeant Barnes?"

"Yeah, though I guess maybe I shouldn't go in there," Steve gestured with his chin towards whatever monitor they had been hovering over and Hill shrugged in between bites of her sandwich before gesturing with a free hand for him to look at what they were looking at.

"JARVIS alerted me as soon as Tony and Barnes went into his workshop," Bruce shrugged, "I let Hill know and she said we should set up a real-time brain scan overlay to see what kinds of reactions happen with his neuron-circuitry. I wanted to let you know, but you kind of left your cellphone in your room after you changed."

"Yeah, I didn't realize I dropped it on my way out," Steve replied a little sheepishly, having forgotten that his cellphone was not with him during his morning run after he was halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge. He normally carried his cellphone with him, but always left it on vibrate, still not quite understanding why people were so attached to their electronic devices in this day and age. Perhaps it was a bit old-fashioned of his mindset, but he rather liked the 'peace' of not being constantly glued to an electronic device and just listen to the natural sound from the city, pedestrians, and everything in between during his morning runs.

"No worries," Bruce shrugged, having tucked away his sandwich rather quickly and was now absently brushing crumbs from the corners of his lips.

"This does unfortunately confirm the theory that Sergeant Barnes has a somewhat less hostile reaction without your presence," Hill gestured to the screen, which showed Bucky not sitting in chair and being prodded by Stark as Steve had expected, but rather was standing staring at a holographic model that had been made of his metallic arm.

"Somewhat less?"

"He didn't exactly like sitting down to be scanned by Tony's tech initially. Luckily before anything happened, Tony apparently got it and had him stand up, walk around, even examine Dummy, You, and Butterfingers," Bruce brought up a smaller screen that showed exactly what he was saying.

"Tony doesn't like anyone touching his robots," Steve said, surprised. He had heard from Pepper one day that in the aftermath of the Malibu home destroyed, the first thing Tony had done after having the shrapnel removed from his chest, was to go and dig up his three robotic arms before spending a whole week holed up in his workshop working on them. There had also been the unspoken rule whenever entering Tony's workshop was that you did not go and touch the robotic arms unless they approached you first – or in Steve's case for some odd reason, tended to crowd around him like overactive puppies of a sort.

"Yeah," Bruce's voice had an odd soft quality to it and Steve knew it would have been similar to his own had he said the same thing. Tony Stark may have been the most obnoxious, loud, annoying, bull-headed, self-serving man anyone had known, but there was a very good heart somewhere in there. A heart that understood on a level that should not even exist because of the pain and tragedy of his own life, but nonetheless always strove to ensure mistakes were rectified and lives saved.

There were very few things that drove Tony into doing something like this and Steve thought back to what Stark had said the day before, "He must have figured out something in Bucky's arm was StarkTech."

"Really?" both Bruce and Maria looked surprised and Steve shook his head.

"Tony only told me in so many words that Bucky's arm might be part vibranium," he explained, "and that something in the shipments were traced back to the old SSR bunker Coulson's using right now as a base of operations in London."

"I thought your shield was the only vibranium in existence," Bruce said and Steve nodded.

"That's what I thought, but if the shipments were traced back to the old bunker, it could mean-"

"That HYDRA had infiltrated the SSR or even Stark Industries from the beginning and was planning all of this," Hill finished for him, her lips pinched as she crumpled up her sandwich's wrapper and tossed it into a nearby slightly-overflowing garbage can, "Phil hasn't gotten back to me yet about the other leads I put out for him regarding HYDRA installations, but I'll ask about this one. How come Stark didn't tell me-"

"You should know by now that Tony forgets, deliberately or not," Bruce shook his head and Hill rolled her eyes.

"The things I do as New York's head of security for S.I.," she muttered.

They all watched for a few minutes in silence at Tony who was gesticulating with some animation towards the projection of Bucky's arm to Bucky himself. From the various angles on the security cameras it looked like Bucky was actually paying attention to what Stark was saying. Steve never really learned to read lips, but he did learn to read a lot of body language, especially when he was still skinny and needed a clue as to how the bullies reacted to him. Then again, usually it was obvious considering he mouthed off to them. Reading women's body language was a lot harder for him, probably impossible since he did not realize how forward some of them were back in the SSR headquarters, and especially how Peggy had reacted that one time.

Soldiers, he supposed, were much easier to read, and he had spent nearly his whole life taking cues from Bucky's silent non-verbal body language to either back him up in a fight or to prepare to run like hell after Bucky threw the first punch before joining him in flight. Right now, he could see that Bucky was rather attentively listening to what Stark was saying, and it tugged a bit of a guilty hurt within him. The fact that Tony was making far more progress in actually _reaching_ Bucky than he had without having parts of the Tower destroyed, made him grimace inwardly.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for Tony to actually fix his arm," Hill murmured after a few minutes, "military hardware-wise, I wouldn't do it. Too much of an advantage to a still-unknown quantity."

In that instance, all of the guilt and hurt that had been building in him at seeing Tony talking with Bucky dissipated as he realized what Maria was saying. He looked at Bucky again and realized he had been seeing his friend with a soldier's perspective, reading him like he would read a soldier on the battlefield, watching their movements, patrols, the way they reacted to orders given, etc. And he also belatedly realized that while Tony was trying to do what he could the only way he knew how, he could only really relate to the perceived mistakes he had made by talking hardware, 'fixing' the mechanical aspect. Tony was definitely not a people person for the more human side – unless Pepper was involved.

He let the corner of his lips quirk up in a small humorless smile at Hill's implied statement – that while Tony seemed to be reaching Bucky, it was more likely to be his presence that would reach the _human_ part of his best friend.

"Tony wants to look at that arm no matter what," Bruce sounded resigned as he nodded his agreement with what Hill said, "but I can definitely tell you the live scans are showing a minute difference than what I showed you yesterday Steve."

"Hmm?" he looked up from the security feed to a window that Bruce flicked over with a hand and expanded to show the affected areas of Bucky's brain.

"It's hardly noticeable unless you know what you're looking for," Bruce pointed out the dark spot that Steve remembered staring at yesterday, "here and here. The faint discoloration is gone, though still not quite there. It's definitely still dark, but it's also changed a bit. I kind of want to get more blood work from him to see if there's any alterations in the chemistry and make up, Maria, do you know if the Red Room programming or whatever had any alterations in blood work?"

"That I don't know," Hill answered beside him as Steve crinkled his brow, staring at the spots that Bruce was pointing out. He remembered what the spots looked like yesterday, the serum gifting him with an uncanny memory, but he honestly could not tell the difference- Ah...maybe that was it... He pointed to a spot, "I think that used to be a shade darker?"

"Yeah!" Bruce nodded eagerly, "that's a new one-"

"Looked like the pressure of how I sometimes use charcoal for shadowing," he admitted sheepishly.

"I'll add that to my search list and also email a few contacts about it," Hill continued as if they had not interrupted and Steve shot a quick look at her to see her nod once. She was going to reach out to Fury through whatever methods she had to contact him. It was a very rare thing to do, the former Director of SHIELD having been true to his word and had gone completely underground and incommunicado. Steve knew that Hill had the means to contact Fury, being his second-in-command and all, but it was also a privileged she never confirmed nor denied to anyone in the circle that knew he had survived. They needed more information about the Red Room programming and the best way was to contact a survivor of such programming.

"Thanks," Bruce replied as he pinched his fingers, expanding and collapsing the new area that Steve had pointed out before pulling a stylus out and seemingly wrote on air, until the faint outline of a holographic notepad visualized next to the brain scan.

As they left Bruce to his note taking, Steve brought the security feed back to the forefront, studying it as well as watching Bucky's interaction, or lack-thereof, with Stark. It looked like Tony was showing some kind of diagramming within Bucky's arm, judging by the images of internal circuitry and wiring that made no sense to him and looked a little too eerily like veins, muscles, and skeletal structure in a natural arm.

"JARVIS finished hacking into Pierce's files," Hill started conversationally as she crossed her arms and stared at the same feed with him. "There are references to D.C. which support Bruce's theory that Sergeant Barnes has had some maintenance work done before put into cryostasis. We didn't expect any overt mention of the location or facility, but there are references and numbers that I've sent down to our agent in the CIA so she can get some numbers crunched."

"CIA?" Steve was not aware that anyone else was involved outside of Tony, Maria, Sam, and JARVIS.

"Agent 13 has always been the most discreet of all our agents, even more so than Romanov or Barton," the corner of Maria's lips quirked up in a tiny smile and Steve chuckled lightly.

"Sharon, right?" he saw an eyebrow raise up at his inquiry and shrugged, "Natasha told me her name before disappearing off the grid."

"Those of us who were hand-picked by Fury had coordinates on our badges for full evac protocol if someone really took out SHIELD. Just didn't realize HYDRA would be the one to do that along with the information purge, but you never know," she did not look troubled by it and Steve was not going to apologize for telling Fury that SHIELD had to go if HYDRA went, but he did suppress the urge to apologize.

"Yours led to Stark Industries?"

"Well, it led to the Avengers Tower, but before, it led to Tony's Malibu house," Hill shrugged, "Agent 13's was to the CIA where she began to feed me information and I passed it Coulson after he got set up in London a few months back."

"I've asked Sharon to hook up with Sam when she finishes crunching the numbers , though I didn't tell her who or what it's for. I'm also trusting Wilson to be discreet about this-"

"He will be," Steve supplied and Maria nodded her head.

"I figured as much," she waved off his interruption, "but Agent 13 will need to keep her cover intact in the CIA. They already know she was a former SHIELD agent so she is under surveillance, but the CIA also knows a good asset when they see one. The reason why Fury assigned her to the CIA as her escape option was because in her files, she's only been with SHIELD for about a year before everything went down, not high enough in the Levels to know any real information."

"There's a 'but' in there..." Steve remembered Sharon, or when she was posing as Kate, the nurse who worked in the local hospital. She was young, and he would have pegged her as about a little younger than him, probably just recently graduated from medical school.

"She's been training her whole life-" Steve grimaced and Maria shook her head, "-not like Romanov. I mean, she grew up literally in the halls of SHIELD. Her parents were agents, her grand-aunt was an agent, her cousins were agents in different agencies, one's even a double-o in MI6, so she's kind of been in the spy business her whole life."

"Did she get to choose?" Steve asked before shaking his head at how callous his question was, "no, don't answer. That was wrong of me. I just...this whole spy thing-"

"I know," Hill shrugged again, showing that she understood where he was coming from, "but think of it like military brats growing up on military bases. Some choose to follow in their parents footsteps, some don't..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tighten her arms across her biceps as she stared at the footage and realized that Hill was talking from personal experience. "I'm sorry..."

Maria smiled bitterly, "Don't be. You don't have to deal with your still active-mother and father denouncing you for joining a terrorist group that's been killing quote, 'good American boys and girls'."

"...Sorry," he finished lamely and she uncrossed her arms before patting him affectionately on the arm.

"I said don't be," she reassured him before laughing softly, "Romanov was right, you're pretty horrible at talking to women."

That broke the tension and Steve shook his head, "Not you too." He took the levity for what it was before sobering a little, "Do you think it will help him?" He nodded towards Bucky who was sitting as still as he had last night, but there was still an intensity to his gaze that showed he was paying attention to Stark's explanations, or even ramblings by this point.

"For your sake, I hope so," Maria caught his eye and stared straight at him, her gaze never wavering, "if it was my call, I would have put the bullet in between his eyes and be done with it. I would have done the same with Romanov, but she eventually proved me wrong."

Steve blinked once, "Why?"

"Because he's dangerous, a liability, and with one more weapon that we can neutralize, that's one less weapon HYDRA has against us. With the Fridge raided and most of the 0-8-4s or stuff supposedly sent into Slingshot in their hands, the less weapons they have, the better."

"But if you have the chance to turn the weapon against them, why not take it," Bruce joined them as he closed several open projected windows with a wave of his hand, "but that's not the point, is it Agent Hill? Turn a former weapon into an allied weapon?"

"It's a very naïve thought to think that Sergeant Barnes will be the same after everything," Hill pointed out with a serious look. "He's a weapon that can be used against-

"-yeah, against the enemies of what's left of SHIELD, but are you going to do that to him?"

"No," Hill shook her head, "he has to make the choice, like Romanov did. She chose to fight and prove herself that she was her own person and in doing so, proved me wrong."

"You know I know what you're trying to do, Maria, Bruce," Steve glanced between the two of them, "I'm not that stupid-"

"Never said you were, Rogers," the corner of Hill's lips quirked up in a crooked smile, "but I wanted to be sure. Because you can't falter once you've started on this path. One misstep, one moment of weakness and you'll lose your best friend forever – you'll lose your life too, even if you may not care for it because its your best friend trying to kill you. Because just remember, there are others who are willing to stand by you, but won't stand to see you recklessly throw away your life because you want your best friend back. You start walking down this path and we'll follow, but you need to keep your guard up."

The unspoken warning to _not_ do what Fury had done to test Romanov hung in the air. Steve immediately understood that whatever Maria had witnessed, had prevented with her STRIKE Team Alpha, it had shaken her confidence. She had obviously regained it since then, but she also did not want a repeat of what happened. But the way she spoke, to Steve it sounded like there was more to just Fury's test of Romanov, more to everything, but at the same time he could sense that it was highly personal and most certainly none of his business.

"For a moment, I thought it was Fury talking to me," Steve smiled at Maria who barked out a quiet laugh.

"I'll take that as a very high compliment," she replied, smiling easily back at him, "and you're welcome."

"Thanks," he said turning back to the monitor and continued to watch Bucky and Tony. He needed that, a reassurance from his friends that he was not the only one floundering here, unsure, no heading, nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. He knew that they were helping him, but to hear it was another thing and it made him glad.

* * *

It was three days later that a semblance of routine had begun to emerge. Tony's efforts on patiently explaining to Bucky about his metal arm for a day and half, to the point where Bucky had actually allowed him to tentatively work on it – Steve and the others had froze whenever Bucky's metallic fingers twitched as if they were going to suddenly choke Stark or throw him into the wall – for the next day and half, had proved fruitful. Bruce had noted that Bucky's mental state had calmed down somewhat, using the first night as a baseline. The first thing done was to send Steve off to sleep, having stayed awake for the past ninety-six hours, keeping his word to Hill to be on his guard.

Steve had stayed up past the ninety-sixth hour before, during the war when they had been stuck in their foxholes in a near-constant shelling of their area by German forces instead of HYDRA. They had been trying to get to a HYDRA facility deep behind enemy lines, but could not move due to the area being a contested zone between the Axis and Allied forces. But the random shelling had kept the Howling Commandos on edge, kept the adrenaline flowing even though that much stress was never good for a body, even one enhanced with super soldier serum.

During the shellings, he had tried to give his men a chance to sleep by offering his shield as cover, to block out some of the noise as well as random debris falling on them. All of them had balked at it, waving his concern off with remarks about how they could stay up, but he had insisted and all but shoved the shield first on Bucky since he was their sniper and thus needed to keep his eyes fresh and alert. After Bucky was Gabe then the rest of the Commandos before he took the last shift himself – which never happened. Bucky had spotted a momentary break and they had all surged forward towards their goal.

The HYDRA base had been taken down in short order and they had driven from it, but Steve remembered he was only vaguely aware of it, having apparently passed out as soon as he felt the danger pass. It was unbecoming of an officer, and he had immediately woken up, but his men had all said that there was no danger and ignored his protests and apologies for falling asleep in the back of the truck.

When the semblance of a routine had been established, Bruce had unceremoniously shoved him out of his lab and ordered JARVIS to take him up to his floor with no detours or excuses. Steve had been grateful for the chance to finally sleep and had promptly passed out for six hours before waking up, a little disoriented and confused. He had been told by JARVIS that Tony and Bucky had finished in the lab for the day with Tony's social and not-so-social appointments back on his schedule to reassure New York City itself that things were fine.

Steve had taken over watch for Tony then, starting his sketch for Bucky after receiving the request from Tony. Bucky had stared at him the whole time, having been left in the main living area of the penthouse by Tony – even though he had his own suite of rooms that he never went to – while Steve sketched variations of the description JARVIS had relayed to him as well as Tony's own input.

The sketches took a while, but each time he was finished, he showed Bucky who never moved from where he was. He had not even moved an inch whenever Steve had entered the room and even if he went to the kitchenette-bar to cook food. When he showed the sketches, he had seen his best friend's face become a little more animated, furrowed, or puzzled, the only sign that Bucky was actually paying attention. But it was enough for him to know that he had not drawn the face that Bucky kept seeing in his memories or dreams.

Steve did not know if Bucky slept, but he had dared not lower his guard again and it was proof of both Bruce's hypothesis and Hill's own observations that Bucky had not reacted so badly since that first night. Occasionally, Steve had heard the whine of his mechanical arm, flexing of fingers and even sometimes things shattering, but those were things like a crater in the granite flooring or a hapless vase that was nearby. But there was no frenetic destruction, though Steve caught Bucky's face scrunched up in pain, as if forcibly warding off the pain from his programming. Those were usually followed by something breaking and while Steve managed to not flinch each time it happened, and to keep his hands steady while drawing, it still hurt.

His friend was fighting and Steve knew he had to fight too. He hoped that Sam and Sharon had information soon. It would be five days since Bucky had arrived at the Avengers Tower that the first breakthrough appeared.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I have to thank my beta reader, Legume Shadow, for introducing me to "Band of Brothers." In particular, the first episode I saw was Episode 6, "Bastogne" and Episode 7 "The Breaking Point" where everyone's in foxholes – (Legume Shadow liked the medic, Roe, apparently) and showed me that episode before we watched everything after that (Speirs is my favorite). That's where I got the inspiration for a brief memory moment for Steve, the foxholes, and using his shield to at least give his men a semblance of peace and sleep as they're getting shelled.


	7. Chapter 7

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 7_

The pain had not ebbed, but it had not grown either and he took the small measure of comfort that had been provided. He knew it was a rare thing to have, and cherished it like the quiet moments in between the end of his orders and his return to his handlers. They had been like brief headlights across his vision in the past five days, a new symptom he had not experienced since he had traveled to New York City. He knew that the target, that Rogers was the cause and while he knew he should have been frightened, what terrified him even more was that he _wanted_ those flashes – wanted that quiet, the nothingness that was unlike the _nothingness_ of rote and orders.

But as he grasped at the slippery nothingness, the cocooning of pain, he also saw the phantom images of cruel calculating eyes, buzzing whines that heralded pain not in his head and pain in his head. He had remembered that when Stark had started to finally work on his arm. It had been an effort on his part not to lash out, not to give into the sudden flash of cruel faces in surgical masks hovering over him, touching him, making him go to sleep, making him feel the pain-

He had to remind himself that Stark had given him a measure of mercy – he knew that word and its denotations, but only briefly remembered it in context, stopping himself from shooting through a little girl who had wandered from her parents into his target's line of sight. Stark had been fearless when he should have been fearful; had explained down the last detail about the construction of his arm, but not of the why and the material used.

He knew the targ-, he knew Rogers was nearby, the pain that constantly stabbed between his eyes still there, a phantom pressure that made him want to dig out his own face, but had managed to keep steady, to focus on his blue eyes. The blue eyes that were now watching him carefully, guard constantly up and he was glad. Rogers should have never have let his guard down – it had clawed at something within him, something base, primal, that he could not identify until just a day ago when Stark was rambling about how scared and terrified he was in Afghanistan. Terror...that was what it was, the primal instinct that had made him scramble, made him run away, to not give in, to not face it, because it _terrified_ him. It was not like a voice whispering insistent demands to kill his target, but it was not a stretch for him to imagine it amongst the jarring flashes of faces, voices, and names he should have known. It was, still is, a need for him to eliminate his target, to eliminate Rogers, akin to the simple flexing of fingers, a muscle memory.

He had recognized it as much, an odd clarity settling over him for the past five days since he had entered the Avengers Tower. Perhaps it was an innate instinct, or perhaps something else, but he had not had such _clarity_ for a very long time. But he also knew that it was a razor's edge, so close to the targ-, so close to Rogers. Tony Stark had mentioned the Red Room, echoing the former SHIELD Agent Maria Hill's words days ago. Stark had also been right, SHIELD Agent Hill could have discussed the Red Room, her speculations about his mindset, about anything and everything in a different room at the Tower, but she had specifically chosen that area.

She had never been a target, he knew that, but he had also studied her brief profile while Director Colonel Nicholas J. Fury had been his target. She was a known, very loyal, associate and knew that he always needed contingency plans. He was not surprised to hear that another agent, the name Natasha Romanov oddly familiar, had been sent to kill Fury and was supposedly 'programmed' like he had by the Red Room. The name had no connotations except for a smattering of words in Russian he could not identify as whether it was part of hearing the Russian last name Romanov, or because of memories.

He supposed it was perhaps both, but did not dwell on it – most likely because Fury was dead and there was nothing associated with that name except for profiles and past contingency plans. It did not elicit the same pain or memory flashes of the face in his mind that he knew was associated with why, who, and how he was James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as Rogers called him. He knew enough that there was some truth in Rogers' voice, even if whitewashed profile of him in the Air and Space Museum had half-lies and half-truths. He had no name except what his handlers had called him, Winter Soldier.

Perhaps there was a significance in such a name when he had sat down in the many cheap internet cafes, mostly around Little Italy, Chinatown, and Flushing, Queens when he wanted a change from Manhattan Island. The search revealed no such name except for words written by Thomas Paine, about a "summer soldier," along side compiled articles about suspected rumors through seventy years of intelligence gathered about the Winter Soldier. There were no pictures, no descriptive except for the mention of a metal arm and unmarked Soviet-style bullets – he ignored those after the first day of searches unlocked the first of many lucid dreams, one in a room bathed in blood and strewn bodies.

His search of Paine revealed nothing of relevance and so disregarded that thread except to connect it to someone in HYDRA who had childish whims long ago. The codename given to him did nothing but elicit anger in him, especially since the memories started to bleed into him since he had informally met Rogers on the rooftop of DuPont Circle. Former Agent Maria Hill had insisted on calling him Sergeant Barnes. The target Rogers called him Bucky or James Buchanan Barnes. Rule-breaking Tony Stark called him Barnes and alternatively Winter Soldier along with some other names related to winter and cold. He supposed if these people he had come for help and for information wanted to call him whatever they wanted, he would respond in kind.

A part of him wanted a name, wanted to be known as something else other than what HYDRA had called him, but at the same time he could feel the deep fear, the same terror that plagued him whenever he was within Rogers' presence. It clawed and tore at him, a never-ending pain that he thought he would fall into the abyss of nothingness if he dared step off the edge and embrace it. He could not lose himself again, that much he knew. If he stepped off into the abyss, would he end up with no memories? Would he not remember _anything_?

He was not so far gone as to not know that his codename had elicited fear, action, and the presence of weaponry. That much he had gathered in the brief flashes of memories and lucid dreams. It was always uneasiness, dread, panic, he had seen that on the Insight Helicarrier – remembered dreams shattered, the brief light of hope only extinguished by a swift execution at his hands or at the barrel end of rifle he had been carrying. And he had felt _nothing_, up until the target had pleaded with him to not do this, to not fight him. The unexpected rage, fury, anger, despair – emotions he did not know where it came from except for perhaps a brief moment of free-falling through a cold arctic Alpine wind – as he attacked...

That had piqued a puzzlement within him, as to why this man dressed in a ridiculous spangled outfit would let himself be killed. Would be willing to be there, "'till the end of the line'" for him. He had saw a brief flash of hands, shaking in friendship, warmth, a willingness to die for each other because they had each others' backs; that was what brothers did – even though he was distinctly sure they were not blood related.

He had dove into the Potomac, after the despairing scream of denial had lashed through his head, stabbing a deep knife into his mind. It dug at him, shredded deep within, before he knew he had to save the target, save Rogers. And then he had left him there, because there was nothing else to do and he did not know why – still did not know why – but he could not face Rogers, could not kill him.

Even though every fiber of his being screamed and tried to force him to.

"Puppet," he murmured quietly, bringing himself out of his reverie as he realized he had been absently scratching one of the robotic arms on a joint. The arm, however sentient like the artificial intelligence that guarded the Tower, seemed to enjoy it, judging by the almost-mechanical whir it exuded. The other two robotic arms were crowded around, almost like docile puppies. He had noticed that whenever he was in the workshop, the arms had all but ignored Tony Stark in favor of him, waiting like well-behaved pets, until Stark threatened to toss them into a scrap heap.

"Puppet?" said man echoed distractedly from where he worked across the room on the holographic interfacing of his arm.

"Strings cut," he stopped scratching and lifted his metallic arm away, staring at it as he ran his flesh-and-blood hand over the smooth surface. He could feel the vague sensation of his fingers running over his metal ones, almost like an afterthought, but still registering in his mind. The tactile feel of his metal arm was not as great as his real one, but he knew enough that the simulated pain, touch, and feel on his metal arm was easily translated to the receptors in his mind and nervous system. Stark had explained something along the lines of neuro-interfacing and from what he gathered, it was rather advance technology judging by how far prosthetics had come from when man first lost a functional limb.

He knew as much that there was wiring in the metal arm to turn off the receptors, but also remembered that sometimes there was an intense pain from it. Like washed out static, he recalled words to reset the 'software' within the arm to temporarily fix it was to crank it in a circle; similar to stretching out pelvic and shoulder muscles, loosening the joint while resetting it back to where it was supposed to function. He vaguely remembered grabbing a neck, eyes bulging before tossing the disgusting face away. That had been preceded by jolts of agony that he did not want.

"Yeah, puppet, I get it, but, puppet?" Stark looked beyond the interfacing at him and he shrugged, ignoring the sharp shooting pain that traveled from his shoulder to his nerves. He had walked away from the remnants of the Helicarrier and Potomac with his shoulder dislocated and had popped it back in, instinct taking over to roll the joint back into its socket. But it was not a perfect fix and it ached. He knew it compromised his ability to defend himself and to take down the targ- he did not want to take down Rogers – but it was but naught a trivial matter to him.

"Dummy, stop hogging Terminator over there and help me here. I need you to hold it steady."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the robotic arm chirp, its clamps opening and closing in an approximation of chirping, before it trundled away from him and towards where Stark had been working for the past four days. It was a micro-chip of sorts and the man had claimed it would prevent any electronic device from shorting out the neuro-interfacing. When Stark had first scanned his arm and its structure, he had made noises that sounded like a keening wail about how his arm was half-fried by what looked like an EMP that someone had jury-rigged to function before breaking down again.

He had offered no recourse or explanation, but knew it was more than likely caused by the coin-like disc the Black Widow had used to momentarily incapacitate him. She had never been a priority target, rather part of the collateral damage he had been willing to inflict to get to his target, to get to Rogers. He vaguely remembered the same faces poking, prodding, the sensation of sharp pain, swimming in a haze of memories that had been clawing at him in the aftermath, but it slipped through his fingers like water on metal.

"You know, I'm kind of glad you're trusting me with this, I mean with assassination and all of that crap under your belt, you actually trust me not to install a bomb into your arm," Stark suddenly spoke up again, his words muffled by the clenching of teeth as he stared from the projection to what he was working on and back.

He only stared at the other man as he absently tapped one of the other robotic arms who had taken the first's place on the joint. The arm bobbed up and down with his motion, seemingly content with letting him do whatever he wanted.

"Just kidding," the smile Stark threw at him did not reach his eyes before shaking his head, "no seriously, I mean, I'm glad we found the kill-switch, even though it's like half destroyed from a year without repairs or you wasting your arm on the Helicarrier – but it's definitely not waterlogged, so at least your arm is waterproof. But seriously, you letting me do this...well...I mean there's a chance you'll probably choke the life out of me when I try to install this, but hey, I didn't realize you would let it get this far."

He tilted his head a little, wondering what Stark was getting at with his current rambling. He thought he saw the ghostly images of people in lab coats, sharp pain, and grabbing pliant flesh to crush in his hands. "They...did what they wanted..." he supposed there was supposed to be some emotion behind them – something deep within told him he should be furious – but he did not really know how to translate it as he stared at the gleaming metal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stark pause, put his tools down and stare at him, his face expressionless and flat, his eyes betraying nothing. After what seemed like a long moment the other man picked his tools up again and went back to work.

"Do you want this?" Stark asked after minutes of silence and he looked over to see that there was tension in his posture as he hunched over his workstation. There was something dangerous in the tension, but he innately knew it was not directed at him, but at what he was working on. Still, he could feel himself responding to that tension, his senses sorting out the various patterns and ways to escape-

"Sir, might I advise that you relax a little. Sergeant Barnes' is responding in a fight or flight scenario," the artificial intelligence's voice piping from overhead seemingly startled Stark and he noted the immediate relaxing of his shoulders as he sat up and looked at him, assessing him before giving him another smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Sorry," Stark threw out the apology, waving at him with a tool in his hand, "answer me honestly Barnes, do, you, want this?" He pointed to the micro-chip he was working on.

He did not understand the question asked. Why would Stark ask if he wanted it if there were already plans in place for it? It was a good preventative measure to heighten the security of his arm and would prevent neuro-shock in the long run. Stark had allowed him to witness each step of the process to seemingly convince him that it was not an explosive device or another kill-switch that HYDRA had installed into his arm.

"I'm asking because you need a say in this," Stark stared hard at him, "I usually just make things and give them to people, but they usually want it. You, you need a say in what's going into you. You can't just let someone mess with you and come out like sunshine and rainbows."

Stark always had unusual words that he did not quite understand, but at the same time understood it on some level. He could hear the urgency, the importance in what Stark was asking and shrugged. What he wanted was irrelevant and the concept of _wanting _something, especially since all he recalled was just painful prodding and sensations pushed away at the want. He supposed he _wanted_ them to stop it, had lashed out in a haze to stop the pain, had found himself in more pain and remembered screaming because he had failed-

_"Your actions have shaped a century and I need you to do it again_," _the voice was kind, pleasant, a far cry from the pain that had been inflicted upon him just moments ago. He had felt the sting, but it had done nothing except push away at the swimming image of the blond-haired man with eyes of blue._

_ His eyes were blue._

_ His eyes were blue and they had been full of hope, shock, despair-_

_ His eyes were blue and they had been angry._

_ His eyes were blue and-_

_ His eyes were blue and they wanted to kill him, to stop him-_

_ His eyes were blue and had been stunned when he ambushed them. Good._

_ That was not right..._ That...was not right, was it?

He wanted to follow the spangled man- No, he wanted to follow the target-

He wanted to kill-? No, he did not _want_ to kill the target, to kill Steve Rogers. Did he?

The pain was growing again and he grimaced, pressing a finger against the sinus point in between his eyes, feeling the sharp stabbing-

"Sorry," he opened eyes he did not know he had closed to see the targ-, to see him staring at him with blue eyes that were still full of concern. Rogers had said that word and it was taking every effort, far more than the past four days, for him to push the pain away, to not give in- _Because if he gave in_...

"Tony, Sam's gotten word that he and Sharon found something in D.C.," the target-, Rogers, said, even though he kept his eyes on him instead of addressing Stark. "Hill's called in a quinjet to get us there ASAP. Sharon's going to stall her CIA handlers for as long as possible, but I get the feeling that we won't have long."

"Wheels up in five?" Stark set his tools down and held his hands up. A second later, pieces of metal flew from all different directions, making the robotic arm that had been helping Stark open its clamps in a silent surprised chirp, as they formed around Stark, creating the armor that he was known for.

"Yeah, Hill's coming down to keep you company Bucky," the corners of Rogers' lips twitched in a faint smile-

_That smile meant that he was stressed and this time was no different._

_ "Hey, just because the extraction is late doesn't mean that Stark was shot down, okay?"_

_ "Yeah, sure Buck, whatever you say..." the corners of his lips twitched up in a faint smile and he shook his head._

_ "Listen-" he stopped as he heard the familiar roar of propellers and grinned, looking up past the pines to see the silvery gleam of Howard Stark's pride and joy, a little battered, but not the worst for wear._

_ "Hey boys, sorry for the delay. Had to shake a few on my way here," Stark's voice was loud, clear, and definitely laughing. He saw Steve shake his head ruefully before clicking the radio on the backpack Morita was wearing._

_ "Only you, Stark, only you."_

"...I want to go..." he had not realized the words had fallen from his lips until he saw both the targ-, both Rogers and the younger Stark – not Howard, Tony – he reminded himself – stare at him, apprehension clear in Rogers' face and in Stark's posture encased in the armor.

He met those blue eyes and saw the concern in them.

"I don't think..." Rogers closed his mouth, a grimace on his lips before opening it again, "Bucky, we think it's the place where you were kept...on ice..."

He blinked once. Did the target not understand? "I want to go," he would admit that the word felt a little foreign on his lips, but could feel the pain pushing at him, scratching at him like an itch that would not go away. This was a test, he was sure of it, this was a test and _he_ was failing-

"Okay," the target did not avert his gaze, staring at him with the intensity of a soldier, willing to go to his death-

"_I'm with you to the end of the line!_"

-it was a test and _he_ had passed.

It was a test and he _wanted_ _him_ to pass.

"No, wait, what? Steve-"

"Bucky can come," Rogers did not look as Stark protested, his voice metallic and tinged under his armored helmet.

"But-"

"You asked if he wanted what you were making for him just minutes ago, Tony," Rogers was looking at him like an equal-

_"I'll get a job and all you have to do is shine my shoes..."_

_ "Thanks Buck, but I'll be fine...really..."_

"Yeah, but this is for himself- Fine, you know what, fine," Stark shook his head as he clomped over to the door, "I'm just hoping this doesn't blow up in all of our faces. I know he gets to choose what he wants to do, but Cap, this...this is kind of dangerous."

"You don't think I know that?" Rogers' eyes never left his and he could feel the pain growing at the same time he could feel something else fighting it- "It could help, or hinder, I know. But sometimes, you have just have a little faith and trust."

Stark paused in his armor and he saw a small dip in the armored shoulders, "Don't well all, Cap. See you up there in five." The clomping of booted armor faded away, leaving the two of them standing in the workshop. He stared at Rogers, unblinking and saw the same blue eyes evaluating him back.

His eyes were blue and they asked him what he _wanted_.

_Revenge, your death, to rip your head-snap neck- why-_ He lifted his metal arm and could feel the gears winding, but there was almost no sound, fixed by Stark just two days ago. It would be easy to attack him with the equipment lying around the room now, to kill him and complete his mission where he now stood. The robotic arms did not stand a chance-

"Gear up soldier," Rogers' voice, the target's voice, was surprisingly soft and kind, "we've got work to do."

_"So, you're ready to follow 'Captain America' into battle?"_

_ "Hell no," he took a swig of his beer and let the alcohol burn all the way down. "I'm not following Captain America-" And had to resist laughing at the start of surprise from Steve. "I'm following a skinny little kid from Brooklyn_."

Following would have been easier, following would have exposed Rogers' back to him – easy enough to attack from behind- The idiot who had followed Rogers was-

He forced himself to move from where he was, walking stiffly forward and brushed past Rogers, past the shrieking need and urge to kill him, snap his neck- "I won't follow you," he growled out as he headed up the stairs and into the elevator, taking him up to the rooftop.

He missed the sad, hopeful smile on Steve Rogers' face as he was left standing by the door to the workshop.

* * *

The flight had taken less than an hour from New York City to the coordinates Sam had sent, located just outside the D.C. Metro area. Maria had explained that one of the files leaked were the plans for quinjets and the military had snapped them up quickly while the more private sectors were trying to find ways to commercialize and capitalize on them without breaking budgets. Tony had immediately commissioned several for future Avengers' use. This was one of the prototypes that had the reflective technology leftover from the first Helicarrier, from files that had not been released and instead had been kept on Stark Industries servers after the Helicarrier had been decommissioned.

They were a few minutes away from landing and Steve was trying not to pace. He would not admit, but he was wired; it was almost like a buzz within him that made him want bleed some of it off by pacing, not stand and do comm checks with Stark and Banner. At the same time he knew that he was the leader, and the leader always exuded a calm presence in the face of danger – or in this case of a potential lead in figuring out how to help Bucky. He could easily sense and see out of the corner of his eye, his best friend sitting like a silent sentinel staring at him. His metal arm made almost no sound now, but Steve could still hear the soft creak of metallic joints with his enhanced hearing over the nearly silent repulsors of the quinjet, a sign that his friend was still fighting, still resisting.

Steve knew that Bucky had taken an earpiece and comm, but had not said anything except to secure it to himself. "Comm channel secure," Bruce's voice made him look over and nod to the other man to acknowledge he could hear.

"Set," he replied, "test one-two-"

"Set," Bruce replied back giving him a faint smile as he fiddled with the earpiece.

"What, nothing for me?" Tony clomped from where he had been standing by the cockpit entrance, peering through the windows.

"We'll make sure you're on another frequency Tony," Bruce replied and Steve made adjustments to his own earpiece so that he did not hear a double-echo of his friend's voice. He could see Bucky reaching up to do the same, having probably heard a faint double-echo from Tony's suit's microphone and his actual HUD microphone.

"You sure you're okay with coming along, Bruce?" he asked, ignoring both Tony and what Bucky was doing even though it filled him with a little twisted sense of camaraderie. He knew giving Bucky an earpiece to listen in on their conversations was a risk that he could easily use it to turn against them, but Steve wanted to believe that his friend was fighting and he would do anything to help him and not exclude him. He also knew that everyone else had their concerns, Hill voicing hers explicitly before they had left. It was Tony who had somewhat convinced Maria about letting Bucky participate after they had converged on the rooftop.

"Can't turn back now, right?" Bruce's smile was a little strained, but Steve supposed it was the suddenness of Sam's request that they get to D.C. as soon as possible. Originally it was just Tony and Steve going with Tony set to download or copy any files they found at the site, but Bruce had insisted on coming along, saying that he would be able to quickly identify needed information relevant to Bucky's mental state.

Then Bucky had _wanted_ to come along and Steve knew he could not deny his friend the chance. Hill had protested, saying that it could be a trap, that maybe it was something within Bucky's programming to trigger and lead them into an ambush, especially if this was one of the maintenance labs that he had been kept in. Sam and Sharon had not reported anything amiss, but neither had they been inside, waiting for them to get there before Sharon could not keep the CIA off their backs any longer.

"Avengers you are a go," Hill's voice was crisp and professional as she was their eyes and ears on the op, using Stark Industries' resources at the Tower as their base of operations.

"Acknowledge," Steve pushed all of his worries and speculation to the back of his mind as he settled himself and reached for his shield, snapping it in place on its holster on his back.

"Sir, touching down," their pilot, one of the SHIELD agents that Hill had brought into the fold of Stark Industries.

"Roger that," he moved forward and hit the button to lower the ramp, the sudden wash of wind and quiet thrum of the repulsors blowing into the hold of the quinjet. Securing his helmet, he looked at Bruce.

"Dr. Banner, stay behind me at all times. We don't want to chance the Hulk coming out when this is just a data extraction op," he said before nodding to Tony, "Stark, perimeter check."

"On it," Tony flew off in a burst of red-gold as he jumped the last few feet to the ground, crouching to absorb the light landing as he heard Bruce land behind him and out of the corner of his eye Bucky landing without even a whisper of sound.

"Raptor One-one-four, stand by in cloaking mode. We should be out in half-hour," he ordered the pilot.

"Acknowledge, Raptor One-one-four cloaking and standing by," the pilot replied back, "good luck Cap."

Steve felt the corner of his lips quirk up in a rueful smile as he advanced up the steps of the large bank, noting that it had been converted from an old courthouse style of architecture. His smile grew a little wider as he saw Sam standing by the entrance, a handgun drawn, but held in a relaxed position.

"Cap," Sam greeted him as he moved forward a little, the smile on his face before it shifted to an alarmed look as he looked beyond him.

Steve knew what he had seen and shook his head, "Bucky wanted to come."

"But-"

"He _wanted_ to come," he insisted and saw Sam's face pinch a little before he gave a brief nod. Steve did not miss how tight his friend's grip on his gun had become, nor the wariness he now exuded as he smiled briefly to Bruce and to Tony who landed with a quiet metallic thunk behind them.

"Perimeter looks clear, nothing on scanners or infrared except for sleepy residents," Tony reported and Steve nodded.

"Good, we'll make this quiet and quick before anyone realizes we're here," he headed towards the double doors, one of which was propped open with a brick probably found in the alleyway beside the bank.

"Sharon's already disabled the security and is scoping out the place," Sam reported, "police patrol this early in the morning hours are usually few and far in between, but she's managed to re-direct them elsewhere. Unfortunately that also gives us about a time frame of thirty-three minutes before her superiors figure out that we found a lead and send teams here or whatever the CIA does in this case."

"Did you find-" his super soldier serum-enhanced senses told him to move before not even a second later, Bucky suddenly brushed him past him and nearly knocked into his shoulder. He could hear the faint grinds of churning metal in his arm as he saw the frozen, almost terrible blank look on his best friend's face. "Bucky-"

"Whoa," Sam whispered, but Steve quickly followed as Bucky half wrenched the gate into the bank off of its hinge and stalked deeper into the bank.

"Bucky, wait!" he called out.

Almost the same time Sam shouted, "Sharon get the hell out of the way and don't shoot?" His friend shot him a quick look and Steve nodded, "Don't shoot! The Winter Soldier is a friendly-I can't believe I just said that..."

There was a methodical stride in Bucky's steps as Steve hurried to catch up and turned the corner to see his former neighbor, ex-SHIELD, current CIA Agent, Kate, or rather Sharon, backed into a corner, gun drawn and pointed directly at Bucky. Bucky himself was ignoring her and seemed focused on the panel that was draped in wires and equipment that looked like it was to hack it.

"Agent, put the gun down," he stepped forward towards Sharon who looked half-terrified, but her posture and steady stance told him otherwise.

"Captain, that's a known hostile-"

"Bucky's not-"

The clicking, cranking sound made them all stop and look to see the vault doors opening, Bucky's flesh-and-blood hand having been acknowledged by the vault's security systems. It was also displaying an account number, name, that Steve saw said [Lukin, Alec], and a face that was clearly Bucky's, but with his hair cut short. He realized that for all of the assassin and spycraft that his friend had engaged in, one must have had palm-print access to the secure vaults. The bank was known internationally and he supposed that this was also the place where the powerful in Washington D.C. stored some of their money. Why not give access to an assassin, amongst the powerful elite, and hide him in plain sight.

However, Bucky did not move an inch from where his hand hovered above the palm-print reader, staring ahead at the open vault doors. Steve followed his gaze and only took a single step forward when he too froze at what he saw. Amongst the vault boxes of varying sizes was a cryostasis chamber and a simple looking chair. Surrounding the chair were wires, glowing lights, and mechanized equipment that looked like it belonged in a nightmare of an operating table.

They had found the lair of the Winter Soldier.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Credit for the way Bucky's arm works goes towards devil_wears_winchester who's story "Beginnings" is an inspiration in this chapter. You can find the story here: archive ofour own dot org/ works/ 1578968


	8. Chapter 8

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 8_

It was Tony who took the first steps in, Bruce following in his wake before Steve snapped out of his reverie and forced himself to walk into the golden-silvery gleaming safe-deposit boxes lined walls. It looked like an ordinary vault save for the nightmarish contraptions, tubes, electronics, and things that he did not recognize except for perhaps _torture_ piled around the room.

"Hey man," Sam's hand suddenly on his made him come to himself as he realized he had stopped again and looked at him to see concern etched across his features, "you okay?"

Steve nodded numbly as he gathered himself and forced himself to stare elsewhere, anywhere but at the chair he innately _knew_ HYDRA had sat Bucky in to be tortured, brainwashed, programmed, whatever. "Keep watch outside, we're using secure channel three," he ordered and Sam nodded.

"Got it," his friend lifted his hand from his arm and gave him a wan smile, "just...it's going to be okay, Steve..."

"...Yeah..." he breathed out as he forced himself to move across the room to where Tony had found a panel of sorts and was sticking a thumb drive into it and not looking elsewhere. Bruce however, had gingerly approached the chair and cryotube, his expression pinched and concentrated, but did not seem to be turning green. Steve turned his attention elsewhere and jerked his head at the thumb drive Tony seemed to be half staring at, a small pop-up screen scrolling with lines that looked like it was half in english, half in cyrillic.

"Anything?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm as he glanced back. Bucky had not even moved a single inch after the doors had opened, almost as if he had completely shut down.

"-cure channel 3, Steve, got us?" Sam's voice suddenly patched through and Steve raised his wrist.

"Loud and clear," he replied.

"Estimate twenty minutes," Sharon's familiar voice piped through his earpiece, calm and professional unlike how she had greeted him for the year that they were neighbors. She still sounded a little angry and Steve knew it was because of Bucky's presence and the fact that he was the Winter Soldier. Hill had never really told him how much damage Bucky had caused in the Triskelion and on the Helicarriers before intercepting him in the bowels of the third one, but he had overheard a chance conversation between her and Coulson about how he had almost gotten air support before someone wiped them out.

"Roger," he acknowledged and lowered his arm. "Stark?"

Tony ignored his inquiry, "Hill, you getting this?"

"Yeah, I'm recognizing basic command lines used in programming various agencies' encryption. The others...I'm seeing AIM, HammerTech, even StarkTech-"

"Don't say that, just...don't say that," Tony's voice was flat and devoid of emotions from the Iron Man suit and Steve glanced sharply at him. Tony seemed to notice his look before he sighed, "Bucky's arm is half composed of StarkTech. Like really old StarkTech that I know Dad worked on and gave to the government and probably to SHIELD. The other half of that arm is modern StarkTech...stuff...I wrote into SHIELD's computers, gave to Fury for the Avengers Initiative..."

Tony lifted an armored finger and poked the screen as he shook his head. A disquieting sense of deep seeded anger started to fill Steve as he stared at the lines of computer language he did not understand. He was annoyed and angry that Tony found things like this, that it was _his_ technology that had been put into Bucky; that maybe he could have found something earlier to prevent it – after all, wasn't the vaunted Tony Stark always crowing about how 'privatization of world peace' was his domain? That his arrogance in keeping the world safe could have prevented HYDRA from taking over – from infecting SHIELD and destroying-

He shuddered and twitched a little as he clenched a fist and forced himself to calm down. Yes, there was StarkTech in whatever Tony had found, yes, the fact that there was StarkTech from Howard's days, and yes it was proof that HYDRA had been latching onto the technology SHIELD had and used it for their own nefarious purposes, but...could he really blame Tony for that?

A small vicious, irrational, part of him said yes, he should, because Tony Stark, self-proclaimed genius, playboy, philanthropist should have seen it coming. Was paranoid enough and smart enough to build a suit of armor out of scrapes in the Afghanistan desert – was smart enough to outwit Loki, outwit his opponents and survive so _why the hell could he not keep an eye on his technology?!_

"You really don't think I'm angry, Steve? That I _hate_ that something like this is in front of me? That this?! This is a fucking slap in the face of everything I've been trying _not_ to do since becoming Iron Man?! Hell, even before that?" Tony hissed quietly next to him and Steve blinked, startled as he realized he had said the last few words that he had been thinking in his mind.

"Tony-"

"No, no," the glowing eyes of Iron Man turned to him, staring at him with its flat expressionless faceplate, "_you_ don't get to ride your high horse in this case and blame me, blame everyone for what's happening-"

"This was _before_ you became Iron Man! Before you decided that Stark Industries would not create weapons, oh, what is it? Have a bigger stick?! Well, here you go, Mister Stark, here's your bigger stick!" He pointed at the chair and indirectly at Bucky, "How do you like it?!"

"I'm not the one to blame!" Stark growled back defensively, "If there's anyone to blame, just look at yourself!"

"What?!"

"You're the one who dropped your _best_ friend into the ravine!"

"I didn't-"

"Couldn't save him?! Couldn't catch him with your fucking super soldier enhanced serum enough to pull him from the train?! Couldn't decide that Zola just had to die because-"

"Zola had information-"

"You let him _fall_!" even with the armor on, Steve could feel the heat of the furious glare leveled at him, burning with his own searing anger at the _arrogance_, the assumption that he _had let_ Bucky fall, "you-"

"Hey!" the sudden loud bang made them spring apart, jumping at the sound as both turned to see Bruce glaring at them, having made the sound by smashing his fist into the safe deposit boxes, "stop it, both of you."

Steve winced at the sudden unexpected pressure blooming across his temples and absently rubbed at it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stark shake his metal head as if to clear a phantom ring of sorts. "What-"

Bruce stared at them, shaking his head. "I knew it," he gestured roughly to the chair and all of its nightmarish equipment around it, "something didn't feel right when we walked in and I thought it was just because this thing looks like a surreal dream from someone's sick twisted torture fantasy, but..." He took a deep breath and gestured to Stark, "Tony, scan the equipment around the chair."

"Uh...okay," Steve noted that Tony sounded absolutely shaken, but as he raised his armored hand and the repulsor point glowed a little, he saw that his hand did not shake or give any indication that he had been disturbed. He was silent for a few seconds before grounding out, "What...the...hell, Bruce, are you sure?!"

"What," he looked between the two of them as the thumb drive beeped a confirmation of finishing a transfer and Steve pulled it out without looking, stuffing it into one of his hardcase utility pouches.

"I, uh, kind of smelled it, but wasn't too sure until you two started to fight," Bruce confirmed to Tony before turning to look at him, "Steve, some of the tech inside whatever's in this is Tesseract-based, or even like the Chitauri sceptre."

"But..." Steve trailed off as the implications hit him. They all knew that with the Hulk in him, it augmented his senses to the point where he easily was able to smell trouble, danger, or even practically fear at times. Bruce really did not talk about it much, still having trouble at times reconciling living with the Other Guy versus his augmented senses that he felt sometimes hindered or helped. The fact that Bruce was saying that whatever equipment was in the chair or near the cryotube that Bucky had been subjected to had Tesseract and Chitauri technology... He knew Howard was fascinated by the small magazine of HYDRA weaponry bullets he had taken from Schmidt's base, but he had not really concerned himself with what happened to it afterwards.

The Tesseract had been lost when he and Schmidt fought, and Steve remembered it clearly, in his mind, only about three years ago. A wormhole opened in the middle of the bomber, sucking Schmidt into who knew where. It was similar to the wormhole opening in the skies of New York, but then again, the Chitauri had come through. The fact that there had not been any technology remotely like the Tesseract within SHIELD that he knew of, or anywhere else since waking up from being frozen had spared him no amounts of relief...until now.

Fury had said that all Phase Two weaponry had been destroyed after the portal closed in the aftermath of the battle above the skies of New York. SHIELD had even dedicated themselves to making sure that any leftover Chitauri tech was not left lying around for some random passerby to pick up and study. They even had teams of agents hunting it since then.

But that apparently was all another lie. Lies upon lies buried upon even more lies and half-truths. He suspected that Fury might have known about some of the tech being loaded into the Slingshot; but what Maria had said days ago regarding that the Slingshot being completely false reawakened the bitterness and anger at how utterly played they all had been to HYDRA's tune.

What Bruce was saying...Tesseract technology in the equipment clearly meant to torture and probably suppress Bucky's memories...along with the fact that HYDRA had been operating in SHIELD's shadow for the last seventy years? Had they extracted all of that technology without Howard's knowledge? He wanted to believe that his long-dead friend did not know and was not culpable in what had happened to Bucky. He knew that Howard guarded his advance technology like a mother hen, but at times was also utterly careless with what he did with it in his excitement to advance the human race forward.

For all he knew, Howard could have accidentally left HYDRA tech out for an assistant to steal or could have inadvertently signed off on paperwork that someone shoved under his nose with the idea of how it could change the world or some falsified truth as HYDRA experimented on Bucky in secret. Anton Vanko's thirst for profit had proved that sometimes Howard did not have the best judgment in people – though he also proved he had the power to make a person's life miserable by deporting and denying them the necessary technology. Had his friend discover the truth behind one of those papers or experiments he signed off on? Had he discovered where the tech he was trying to reverse engineer was going towards? Was that why HYDRA had killed him and his wife Maria and made it look like an accident? Because maybe he knew too much or had discovered too much?

"...If Dad-"

"No," Steve cut Tony off sharply, his lips thinning as he glared at the chair and equipment surrounding it, "Howard wouldn't have...he... It wouldn't be the first time someone deceived him." He looked at Stark and saw him reluctantly nod.

"Right. Anton Vanko, right," Tony sounded calm, but Steve knew he was also trying to convince himself that aside from being a cold, distant father, he was not part of this whole systemic torture and brainwashing of Captain America's best friend. "Goddamn HYDRA...I fucking hate them."

Steve made a noise of agreement as he absently lifted a finger and touched one of the black-silvery metallic thing that looked like it was supposed to wrap around half of a head. "Bruce, can you-"

"Yeah, you guys downloaded all of the necessary files, I'm just trying to figure out which parts to take so we can figure out if there's a way to deconstruct it and maybe help restore Barnes' memories," Bruce had moved over and was carefully examining the pieces, frowning as he tried to figure out what pieces were worth salvaging and which ones were completely unnecessary.

"Seven minutes- wait..." Sharon's voice piped over before she trailed off and Steve glanced at both Tony and Bruce. There was a few seconds of silence before Steve held his wrist up.

"Agent 13 report," he ordered.

"Shit," he could hear the tension in her tone before the sounds of a brief scramble, "that's not the CIA, that's HYDRA!"

"You sure?" he heard the faint exclamation from Sam followed by what sounded like doors closing and something heavy being moved.

"I'm pretty sure being shot at wasn't your first clue!" the brief sound of gunfire punctuated the comm.

"Shit! You got a second piece I can use?!"

"Negative," Sharon's voice had turned hard and professional as she huffed a strained breath through the comm,"Captain, your _friend_ deliberately tripped the alarm scanning himself into the vault- I knew it was too easy..."

"It's not Bucky's fault-" Steve looked up at the sudden movement in his peripheral vision to see Bucky deliberately punching something into the palm scanner before the gentle hiss of several of the safe deposit boxes opened on the opposite side of the room. They were filled with all sorts of weaponry and he saw Bucky walk over without a sound, plucking an older-model sniper rifle, Soviet-era designed, his hands moving over to make quick adjustments. He reached down again and pulled out an assault rifle with a grenade launcher underbelly, several magazines, two USPs, and an Uzi, securing them on his persons in a very familiar way before walking out of the vault.

"Did he..."

"He just did..."

"Bucky," Steve ignored what Bruce and Tony were saying, surprise evident on Bruce's face, and hurried out, catching up to Bucky as he walked in deliberate silence down the halls back to the entrance. He wanted to reach out, to reassure his friend that they were in this together, but something made him hold back, walk just half a pace behind Bucky as he made adjustments to the grenade launcher he carried. Steve watched the steadiness of the sniper rifle strapped across his back. The strap was worn, bits of dirt caked on the butt end signaling that it was a favored weapon, but the weapon itself was polished, oiled, and clean. It was definitely an older model and Steve suspected that it was also the rifle that had put three bullets into Nick Fury.

"Agent 13 was correct," the words were so quiet that even with his enhanced hearing, Steve barely heard it as Bucky paused at the threshold where he had half-ripped the teller gate off. "She was also incorrect," he continued and Steve saw his metallic hand curl into a fist. He turned his head back a little, the same terrible blank gaze in his eyes. Steve met that blank gaze with a clear one of his own and saw the metal hand clench and unclench. "Stay out of my way," Bucky finally growled out, pain evident behind his words.

The warning was clear that his friend would not hesitate to shoot him, would not hesitate to complete his mission even with the programming was evident in his words as he stalked forward towards where Sharon and Sam were taking cover behind the marble pillars. He saw Sharon peer out from her cover before doing a double-take as she looked back and Steve was about to tell her not to shoot Bucky when his friend suddenly tossed two magazines towards Sam behind the opposite pillar.

"What..." Sam started, but trailed off as Bucky wordlessly reached over to his left side, drew one of the USPs and slid it towards him. "Uh...thanks?" Sam looked gobsmacked as he absently pocketed the magazines and hefted the handgun, flicking the safety off.

Before anyone could do anything, Bucky hefted the grenade launcher and opened the heavy bulletproof glass doors to the bank, firing rapidly in a semi-circle with his other hand. Steve watched as the grenades launched themselves with quiet thunks before they exploded, sending bright fiery debris, screams, and people into the air.

"Shit! It's him!" he heard more than one HYDRA agent shout as Bucky ducked back in, casually propping himself against the middle pillar that bisected the entrance and checked his magazine.

The response was almost instantaneous as bullets pounded the glass, sending spidery cracks and splintering branches everywhere, but did not shatter under the assault. Steve, however, took advantage of the weakening glass and the fiery illumination of destroyed armored vehicles and threw his shield. It shattered the glass before bouncing off of one of the vehicles, hitting several HYDRA agents before rebounding back to him. But he was already on the move, leaping past the broken pieces of metal and jagged edges, catching his shield mid-flight.

He vaulted over one agent, punching another in the face before spinning slamming his shield into the face of another, dropping the agent into the ground. "Stark!" he called out as he saw Tony zip out of the bank, firing repulsor shots this way and that as he flew into the air. "I need a perimeter formed two blocks down-"

"On it," Stark replied as he fired several more repulsor blasts, taking out another armored vehicle farther back and flew off, "there's a lot of people here-shit Cap, they've got Centipede soldiers with them!"

Steve grunted in acknowledgment as he ducked behind a pillar and threw his shield again, catching two HYDRA agents in the stomach before he threw one over his shoulder, the agent crying out as he hit the side of the brick wall of the bank and fell to the ground unmoving.

His senses prickled as he ducked and rolled to the side, feeling the passage of a grenade launching from where Bucky was before bracing himself as he caught his shield. The grenade exploded, sending several agents flying into the air. He knew Bucky had told him to stay out of the way, a clear indication that he would shoot him as an enemy, a combat situation not doing his programming any favors, but Steve wanted to believe that even in the middle of this, his best friend was still fighting the Red Room programming.

Bullets continued to fly in the air, but Steve ducked and weaved, ignoring the near misses and bits of concrete, asphalt shrapnel that embedded and cut into him as he threw his shield again and fought his way past several HYDRA agents. He glanced quickly back to see both Sharon and Sam firing at the HYDRA agents who got a little too close to the exposed entrance, making sure that they did not need his help. He could see the frustration in both of their eyes, especially Sam whom he knew had not brought his wings with him, having left it in the Tower on his most recent trip to Washington D.C. This was supposed to be a simple recon and Steve had not thought of taking Sam's wings with him when they left the Tower.

"Grenade!" Sam called out before the flash of a silvery arm was visible from the entrance followed seconds later by screams as the grenade exploded back where it had come from.

"Bruce-"

"Here, just...trying to keep calm," Bruce's voice was audible over the sound of gunfire, but it sounded incredibly strained.

"You're doing fine buddy," Tony reassured him over the comm. The Avengers knew that Bruce turning into the Hulk in the middle of this firefight would not go well, even though it would make the gunfight a lot easier. This was suburban D.C., half filled with businesses and residential areas.

"Local police and agencies are already responding. I've notified them that there are HYDRA agents along with Centipede soldiers. They're finding some roadblocks-" Maria piped up from the Tower.

"On it," Stark replied, "sorry, can't keep the perimeter-"

"Do it," Steve cut Tony off, "we need them here to evacuate the civilians." He prayed to God that most of the sleeping residents were holed up in their houses and apartments and _not_ venturing outside when the first shots had been fired. His enhanced senses told him that some of the immediately buildings had minor damage, and some bullets had gone into windows, but a majority of the area was not affected. He brought his shield up as he heard the distinct whine of a minigun starting up and crouched, pulling himself as close to his shield before he heard the pinging sound of bullets hitting his shield. He would have dealt with it like he had on the causeway if there were not an army of HYDRA agents between him and the minigun, liable to shoot his legs off – even that maneuver had been foolhardy and born out of desperation.

"Minigun!" he called out, "Sam, Sharon can you-"

The very loud report of a sniper rifle suddenly dwarfed the rapid-fire pinging of the minigun before it was silenced and Steve risked a quick look back towards the entrance to the bank to see Bucky, crouched in a very familiar pose, his well-worn sniper rifle in his hand. The grenade launcher was nowhere to be seen so he supposed that it was out of ammo. Haunting blue eyes met his own and Steve could not help but crack a tiny smile and jaunty wave at the save.

He saw the point where momentary confusion lit across Bucky's stoic features, the tentative hope suddenly quashed by pain in his friend's eyes before his grip on the rifle wavered.

If his hatred for what HYDRA had done to his best friend had not already solidified, Steve knew it would have right then and there as he refocused his attention back to the HYDRA agents. He noted that some had automatically ducked behind the flaming vehicles or buildings once the sniper rifle had gone off, still firing, but more blindly now. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught several black oblique grenades being thrown in his direction and ran, the force of the combined explosion blasting into his back and sending him tumbling down the stairs before he righted himself and ducked behind a pillar, bullets barely missing his feet.

"Cap-"

"I'm fine," he called out roughly at Sharon's concern, choking a little at the cloud of blackened smoke as he peered quickly out, "there's a cluster of-"

"Retreat!" one of the agents suddenly called out and Steve straightened, peering out again to see all of the HYDRA agents that had hidden behind the destroyed wrecks of vehicles and building fronts, backing away, still occasionally firing, but mostly just backing away.

"What-"

"Shit, these guys hit hard! Incoming!" Stark's voice popped over the comm again, "I'm stuck here trying to get them off of the backup, but looks like they're headed your way-"

"Stark, HYDRA agents retreating-"

"They look like Terminator dudes..." Sam breathed out as in the inky darkness of the early morning hour, a small number of bobbing glowing red eyes approached.

"Start humming the theme and I'll shoot you myself," Sharon muttered over the comm. "Whoa...hey, uh-"

"Steve, watch-!"

That was all the warning Steve got before he instinctively whirled and held his shield up, gritting his teeth at the sudden force and weight of Bucky's punch hammering down on him. However, instead of it being the metal arm this time, it was his flesh and blood one before Steve realized his mistake. Too late as he felt his shield arm twist horribly, pain shooting up as it nearly broke from the force, Bucky's metal one ripping it from his grip and tossing it away.

"Bucky!" he shouted, ducking underneath a glint of a knife before blocking fast quick strikes as he stumbled and twisted away. "Stop! I'm not-" He grunted as Bucky's metal fist caught him in the ribs and staggered back, "I'm not your-" He felt, more than heard the bullets being fired, but nonetheless, grabbed Bucky's wrists and _pulled_, throwing the two of them out of the way of the advancing Centipede soldiers.

Bucky snarled and ripped his wrist out his grip before dropping his knife to his other and Steve moved to block the blade, before his friend suddenly used his freed hand to throw the knife backwards, killing a Centipede soldier that had been trying to aim at them, before he reached around and grabbed the Uzi that had been tucked away.

Steve used every trick he knew and weaved past the rapid fire of the Uzi buzzing against his ears as he grappled with his friend, kicking and blocking kicks thrown at him as he twisted inward and reached out. His hand burned as he grabbed the muzzle of the still firing Uzi and forced it outwards – killing several more Centipede soldiers that had tried to ambush them before the gun clicked empty and released his grip on it as Bucky threw it away.

He could hear the chatter from the others in his earpiece, but could not pay attention to it as Bucky stalked forward again, striking with fast furious intent and Steve blocked as best as he could. Of all of the times the programming had to kick in- He cut that thought off as he twisted out of the path of the USP firing towards his head, trying to find where Bucky had thrown his shield. His arm ached and he was pretty sure it was at least fractured, but Steve pushed past the pain and kicked at Bucky's right arm, the arm holding the compact, but powerful handgun, the flesh-and-blood arm.

He knew that there must have been no way for his strike to connect, because he knew how Bucky fought, but was surprised when the USP fell away, his kick damaging Bucky's wrist as he cried out and glared daggers at him. "Come on Bucky...fight it," he muttered as his friend advanced forward again-

Only for Steve to meet him half way and knock him to the ground; out of the way of a gigantic _roar _followed by the green blur of the Hulk smashing his way past whatever was left of the entrance to the bank and onto the pavement of the street before it. Steve only had a quick glance of the Centipede soldiers focusing their fire on the new threat the Hulk presented; roaring again and unceremoniously grabbed one before waving the soldier around like a human meat flail, smashing others with it. Steve's vision was obscured a second later by a boot coming towards his face and he rolled.

He reached out, grabbing Bucky's foot and twisted, sending him back to the ground and trying to reach around for a sleeper hold before he felt his own foot twist painfully and kicked with his other one only for it to meet the hard unyielding object of his metal arm. Steve bucked, pressing his hands to the ground and flipped over, loosening the grip Bucky had on both of his feet as he landed on the ground and twisted, kneeling with his hands in an 'x' to block an ax kick. He broke it, flipping his arms and grunted as he felt the sharp edge of _something_ rip through the fabric of his suit, the drip of blood- Just as stars exploded across his vision and he tasted blood in his mouth. He staggered back and caught a glimpse of Bucky holding a piece of rocky debris in his hand, having used it to smash against his face, before his best friend pressed his advantage.

Steve found himself stumbling as dizziness assaulted him from the sudden hard blow and held his hands up, warding away the sudden swooping memory of bullies who had gotten the first scrappy blow in the back alleys of Brooklyn, except it was Bucky who had gotten that first blow. He shook the stars away as he willed himself to focus on Bucky who had paused, staring at him with something akin to a stricken look on his face.

"Fight it!" Steve shouted, making Bucky flinch before a shuttered look appeared on his face and he lashed out, conveniently knocking one Centipede soldier that had survived the Hulk's current rampage, out with his metal fist before charging at him.

It was a wildly telegraphed one and Steve grimly smiled, his mouth swimming in the coppery taste of blood, as he realized that he was getting through. He easily ducked the charge and grabbed Bucky's right arm and pulled the opposite direction, feeling the pop of bone and of a neatly done dislocation of his shoulder. His best friend howled in pain as he stumbled away and Steve grimaced. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...but-"

He caught the metal fist swinging at him with ease and gripped the powerful metal with both hands as Bucky weakly lashed out, trying to fight at the same time trying to still kill him. "I'm sorry..." he muttered as he saw the fighting pain in Bucky's eyes, the blank look slowly giving way to despair, to a hungry need for him to end it, to finish it and not let him linger like this. "I...can't..." he could not believe that Bucky would ask him to do this, "I'm sorry...I'm-"

"...Finish it..." he heard the inhuman growl of the Winter Soldier as the icy blank look returned and Steve shook his head, his hands trembling against the pressure of the metal arm he was trapping.

"You're fighting it, please, fight it...you're stronger than-"

"I will keep killing...you...until you..." Bucky's teeth were bared in a rictus of torment as he weakly tried to move his injured arm, but got no response.

"And I'll keep protecting you, even if you can't," Steve said before a flicker of recognition washed across the pain-lined face and for a brief moment he saw his best friend, the one before the war, before everything, before they were just two carefree boys, brothers really, Steve'n'Bucky, Bucky'n'Steve...

And the flicker disappeared as Bucky's eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head and Steve barely held him up by his metal arm, having finally succumbed to the agony of his programming. Steve could only shake his head and steel himself at how _hard_ his friend had fought, that maybe, maybe now there was more hope than before. Maybe he would be able to finally help him with the information they had found in the lair of the Winter Soldier.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Dare to be badass.


	9. Chapter 9

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 9_

It was several hours later that Steve and the others found themselves back in New York at the Tower after what had happened in Washington D.C. He was sitting outside on one of the lounge chairs that Tony had just replaced after several had been damaged and deemed not-salvageable by Bucky's crash-landing from the main penthouse area above. There was a wastebasket next to him as he ripped out the recent page of the sketch he was trying to do and threw it in. Several crumpled balls of sketch paper were already in the wastebasket and Steve knew he should feel guilty for wasting so much paper, but was too numb to care.

His left arm was in a sling, wrapped up tight with an ace bandage to prevent most movement; it had been fractured when Bucky had all but ripped the shield from him in an effort to kill him at the bank. His left hand was also wrapped in a much softer gauze, superficial burns already healing from when he had grabbed the muzzle of the Uzi. A giant pad of gauze was covering his right side from his head wound as well as more gauze and bandages covering various parts of his body due to shrapnel that had pierced through his armor during the harried fight. The headache and dizziness that had assaulted him earlier was waning and his arm was not hurting as much. He knew his body well enough that most of the bandages would be gone in two days as the serum did its work and healed him.

The fight had tapered off considerably after Bucky had fallen unconscious, the Hulk making short work of the Centipede soldiers. Stark had reported that the remaining HYDRA agents had fled, though law enforcement had rounded several up for questioning. Steve's concern had been more the Hulk who had glared around, wanting new challenges before Stark had arrived and between the two of them managed to calm him down enough for Bruce to revert back.

It also provided him the opportunity to call down their cloaked quinjet and keep Bruce's modesty intact as well as hide Bucky in it at the first opportunity. He did not want _anyone_ to know that the Winter Soldier was here. Sam, Sharon, and Tony had all boarded, grim looks preventing any other law enforcement agents from entering the quinjet, while he had talked with the FBI Agent-in-Charge of the taskforce that Maria had called for reinforcements. The lead agent noted his statement that the bank was HYDRA along with an abbreviated version of what had happened during the firefight. He had seen the agent, a hard-nosed man who was trying very hard to keep his composure and not demand information, wanting to ask him more questions, but had deftly directed him to Stark Industries and to Maria for answers before boarding the quinjet and leaving.

After everyone had been patched up, debriefed by Maria who made notes and was going to call Coulson about the latest development – and probably also inform Fury wherever he was – they all had went their separate ways in the Tower. The information on the thumb drive was given to Bruce, but Steve had told him to rest for a while since he had a Hulk transformation that was not entirely voluntary. Bucky had been instantly sedated on their way back and was still sedated as he was placed in a different bedroom in the tower. The consideration of putting Bucky in Bruce's lab to monitor his brain activity and so forth had been on everyone's minds, but after what Steve had seen in that bank vault; he did not want any type of hospital, lab, anything clinical of a setting for his friend to wake up to. It certainly explained why Bucky had almost destroyed the bed he had first woken up in and also why he had not really budged from his place in the main area of the penthouse for the last few days.

Steve glanced down at the beginnings of his latest sketch, the night skies of the city growing lighter as dawn approached, and crumpled up the drawing once more, tearing it out of his sketchpad and throwing it into the wastebasket next to him. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, before absently chewing on the end of his pencil as he stared at the fresh blank page. He knew he should have been sleeping, but at the same time, was even more determined to sketch out the face that Bucky had been seeing in his flashes of memories – even more determined to help regain his memories.

"Didn't you grow up with the mentality of 'waste not, want not'?" he looked up to see the door to the patio part of the balcony opening and Sharon stepping out, two mugs of coffee in her hands. She closed the door with her foot before gesturing with a mug to the chair across from him.

"Go ahead," he nodded as she took her seat, "and yes I did, but unfortunately this type of scrap paper tends to rip when I sketch in it."

"Why not get a different one?" she asked as she slid over a cup for him and reached into her pocket, pulling out several various packets of sugar and creamer, "don't really know how you take your coffee, but here."

"I thought being my neighbor for a year and half would have made you an expert? Spy cameras and all?" he felt a tired grin tug at the corner of his lips as she rolled her eyes and sipped her own. He answered her previous question, "I was recommended this type of paper when I first got defrosted, guess it kind of stuck with me, old habits..."

"I was watching the outdoor cameras for threats," she replied to his question, "but a girl can dream sometimes, right?"

He felt a bit of heat flush against cheeks as she grinned over the rim of her mug at her statement. When Fury had notified him via his phone of hidden cameras, he had thought only the obvious ones in the kitchen, living room, and maybe his bedroom, but in his bathroom as she was implying? That...was a bit personal – but after everything he supposed that HYDRA or even SHIELD wanted to keep a close eye on him.

"Fury actually only had cameras outdoors. There were bugs indoors, but no cameras," her expression turned a little serious, "for what it's worth, sorry for the deception."

Steve took the olive branch for what it was and dumped three packets of sugar into his cup before stirring it with the remnants of the sugar packets. "No harm done. Just...wished it wasn't like that..."

Her smile was a little bitter and a little sad, "I...can't relate. Kind of grew up in the business after all... It's hard to trust people except probably those you're related to. And now, after HYDRA, after all of this...maybe a little harder still."

"Maria told me that you had cousins in the different branches, even internationally?" he made sure to word it in a question instead of stating it to at least hopefully give her the illusion that she did not have to answer it.

The sad smile became a little brighter as she shook her head, "You don't have to keep my honor and secrets intact, _neighbor_."

Steve laughed lightly, still feeling a little bit of heat creeping up his neck at her teasing, "Sorry, just, not exactly used to making conversation outside of mission briefs and that sort of thing."

"Not even when you asked me for a coffee date?" she asked, her voice innocent before she shook her head, the sadness and bitterness all but gone from her bright smile, "I'm kidding Cap-"

"Steve," he interrupted, "just...Steve. Captain, Cap, feels too formal and too mission-like. Plus we _were_ neighbors for at least a year, right?"

She shrugged, but nodded, "All right, Steve. And Sharon for the record. Not Kate."

"I figured," he replied dryly, "Natasha told me your name before she disappeared into the winds."

"Oh?" for a second Steve thought he saw a bit of nervous hesitation on her face, but a second later it was gone and he figured maybe she was also as nervous as he was.

"Yeah, but I suppose I didn't really know your last name when you were Kate either. Just Kate-the-neighbor-who-happens-to-be-a-SHIELD-agent," he shrugged, feeling a twinge of pain shoot through his still healing arm and ignored it. "You didn't really work in the infectious disease ward, right?"

"I planted bugs, does that count?" she deadpanned and Steve laughed.

"Nat and I are long-time friends," she continued, sobering a little as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee, "she gave me lessons while I grew up in the halls of the Triskelion and various SHIELD bunkers. Granted, I didn't really see her that often, but she was nice to me. Didn't treat me like the kid mascot on the base or because of my long family's history of being in SHIELD or various intelligence agencies."

He took a sip of the coffee she had brought him, savoring the taste. Good coffee, even though the caffeine did not affect him, was still rare in his mind. He and Bucky used to try to make their own coffee with burnt bread after reading it in a _Horatio Hornblower_ book, and the rations out in the field were not exactly great for coffee. Tony's never-ending supply of coffee had variety of beans, but he preferred the simpler mild-roasted ones. "You've got family in right now-wait, sorry, that's kind of callous of me with this whole thing about SHIELD and HYDRA..."

She gave him a faint smile, "It's okay. My parents retired a few years ago before the whole thing went down – actually probably about a few months before you were found. Most of my cousins kind of don't exactly trust me, but then again, they are spies for a living. I've got a second cousin who's working with Uncle Phil, er, Agent Coulson in London right now, so he's doing well I think. And Agent Coulson's not really my uncle, just you know, family friend uncle-type."

"Only child?"

"Yep," she nodded, "parents didn't exactly have the luxury of having another child after me...spycraft and all."

"Sorry-"

"Don't be," she shook her head, "it's the business and the life." She fell silent for a moment before flicking a finger at him in a vague manner, "So, how about you?"

Steve half rolled his eyes and grinned, "I'm sure they've got stories about me-"

"Well, considering I was your neighbor, I kind of figured out a few things about you – you like experimenting when cooking."

"People say try stuff, so I try stuff," Steve was a little embarrassed that all of the times he was actually in his apartment in D.C. she had probably smelled some of the foodstuffs he had been trying to cook – sometimes without success and more than a few burnt dinners.

"And, books tell you one thing, people tell you another. It's easier to ask the source," she finished, looking at him directly. "So, how about it?"

"I guess..." he floundered a little, not knowing _what_ to tell Sharon. Somehow, a very small part of him thought it was a little easier to talk to Peggy when discreet glances or even small innocuous conversations revealed a lot about the other during the war and even before when he was training at Camp Lehigh. Women were far more direct than seventy years ago, but then again, they also had seventy years to put the women's liberation movement to good use and make gains – though Steve did agree that it was still a very much male dominated society that needed to at least change, or be equalized. It also did not help that he liked Sharon before she was revealed to be a fellow SHIELD agent and tasked to keep an eye on him to boot.

"Well, you are an artist," he saw her pull one of the crumpled pieces of paper out of the wastebasket and flatten it, staring at it, "self-taught?"

"And a couple of art classes before I freelanced sketching cartoons," he flipped to the beginning of his sketchbook, and turned the notebook towards her showing a of rough cartoons he had sketched earlier in the year during downtime in between trips to search for Bucky. It was a little crude, but essentially what he thought of HYDRA.

Sharon laughed, "This is so true. Did you submit this?"

"Not to the major papers, but Tony asked if he could post it on one of the online forums he frequents...buzzfeed or whatever the heck that means," Steve replied. The internet was very informational as he had told Sam a year ago when he first met him, but it was also something he took in small doses. Everyone had an opinion and everyone thought their opinion was the right one. He learned to at least digest the different sides and come up with his own opinion, but sometimes avoided the internet because of rampant misinformation.

"Ah, so that's the origin point," Sharon nodded, "well, I can tell you variations of what Stark posted for you did make the rounds at the CIA and probably everywhere else, but don't worry, I'm not telling." She took hold of the page and glanced at him, "May I?"

"Sure," he shrugged, allowing her to flip through the pages. It was actually a little refreshing, especially since he knew most people didn't even deign to ask, just silently ask or not even, before browsing his sketchbook. Granted, he did leave this one in the main common room so theoretically it was accessible to everyone, but sometimes he kind of wished that people asked before touching other people's things.

"These are beautiful-is that the one at the exhibit-"

"Yeah. It was a pretty impressive mural of my men, I figured I try to sketch it from memory-"

"Memory?! Wow...that's a really great memory, because it looks a lot like it," Sharon's face lit up before it sobered a little and Steve peered over to see that she had flipped the page to a sketch of Peggy. It was one of the few memories of Peggy he had, where she had not noticed him, watching her work tirelessly over the war room map, helping Colonel Phillips plan and plot the Commandos' movement into HYDRA territory while also avoiding the Nazi patrols.

This one was a side profile of her half-bent over the map, a fierce grim expression on her face, but nonetheless a testament to her strength of character and compassion to keep everyone relatively alive in the war.

"That's...beautiful," there was something in Sharon's tone that Steve could not identify as she traced a light finger over the shaded sketch, "you still love her, don't you?"

"I...do," he replied honestly after a moment. He liked Sharon and really did want to get to know her a little more outside of the cover of being his neighbor, but at the same time, he also knew that Peggy had a special place in his heart, "but-"

"Don't worry," Sharon glanced at him and he saw the faint smile on her lips, "a girl can wait."

A faint blush worked its way up his neck as he felt a bit of heat on his cheeks and ducked his head, "I'm sorry. I just...it's not right-"

"It's fine, Steve," out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her shake her head, her smile growing a little wider, "she deserves it. When you're ready, ask me again, okay?"

"I, uh-"

"But that doesn't mean we still can't be friends for now," Sharon gestured to the sketch, "it's still beautiful though. There are definitely archival photos and interviews of Agent Peggy Carter, but I think this captures her best when you look at it."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely as she flipped a few pages before pausing and opened the sketchpad fully. Her expression had turned from a sincere happiness to a bit of trepidation and Steve saw that it was one of his earliest sketches of Bucky, the small dated notation showing that he had sketched it while he had been recovering from his wounds after falling into the Potomac. "That's..."

"I know," she replied, biting her lower lip, "...he..." She closed her eyes briefly before opening them again, "I know he's your friend, and I know that he probably means a lot to you, but...he...maybe it's because I've been an intelligence agent for my whole life, I...I can't see him for who he is right now. Maybe not now...maybe not for a long time."

He stayed silent, watching as she composed herself, "Natasha told me that he was a ghost in the intelligence community, something to scare the new recruits with even though I thought she believed that he was real. He became more real to her when she got injured six years ago, but the Logistics Department didn't exactly believe it. I think my parents used to believe that he was real - snuck a look at their files when I was really young and it talked about some training facility in Russia that had been ignored by the Soviet Union and Russian government. Natasha told me that was where she came from, Red Room or something like that."

She glanced up at him, "I see your friend and I see someone that's really dangerous. Every single one of my instincts tell me to fire first before I get killed by him because there's no second chance... I mean, in this day and age anyone can become a terrorist, walking on the streets or even just buying groceries next to you. Him, the Winter Soldier? He's a clear and present danger, one with a giant painted target on his back and on whomever he's targeting."

Steve nodded once as she glanced back down at the sketch of Bucky and sighed, "I'm not going to shoot him on sight, but what he did to my friends and co-workers that day, I...I can't forgive him. Not now...maybe not ever, even if he was programmed to do all of that." She looked up again, "Sorry..."

He waved her apology away, "You don't need to apologize. I probably do because I made that announcement and got a lot of good men and women killed-"

"No, it was a soldier's decision. For the good of the many we needed to be sacrificed. My anger is only for him and for Alexander Pierce for deceiving us, for doing this. The blame game isn't going to get us anywhere and certainly not what we need," she attempted to smile again, but it was crooked and a little harsh. She quickly turned back to the sketchpad and continued to flip through, a blatant attempt to change the topic from Bucky or anything remotely like it. He let the matter drop seeing that there was no point in pursuing it and he did not want to alienate her after starting to know the real Sharon.

"That said..." she spoke after a few minutes of silent page turning, "I'm glad that he has someone who cares deeply for him to at least help him regain himself..."

Steve felt the smile creep up on his face at her statement as he took a long sip of his coffee, watching as she flipped page after page before she stopped again, a puzzled frown gracing her features. "What?" he asked.

"This...this face..." she turned the sketchpad towards him and Steve nodded, seeing it as one of his attempts to the face in Bucky's memories that he had forgotten to rip out and discard.

"Bucky says he keeps seeing a variation of that face or something like that, in his memories, though he's been trying to describe him to me so I can sketch it out for him. I sometimes helped the cops with witness sketches, though I kind of did it anonymously because of gangs, mafia, that sort of thing – didn't want retaliation and Bucky said I was an idiot sometimes for doing dangerous things like that," Steve shrugged.

When Tony had told him of Bucky's request for a sketch, there was no reason behind it – not that Steve needed a reason to help his friend in any way he could - but Steve had figured perhaps his best friend had remembered something about police sketches and that sort of thing. Back then, Bucky had constantly nagged for him to stop doing it, if only because their neighborhood had some seedy ties to the underworld, but also because it was dangerous work if it was discovered that he was sketching for the police. No one liked a rat and rats usually were put down quite hard. He had stopped when the newspapers started picking up some of his political cartoon sketches, under a penname of course, and because he had caved to Bucky's demands for him to stop.

"I know this face...well, maybe? I think..." Sharon glanced at the crumpled paper she had picked from the wastebasket and glanced over to the wastebasket itself, "all of those the same face or a variation of it?"

"Yes?" he watched as she leaned over, grabbed the wastebasket before dumping the contents onto the table with a quick apology as she fished out his sketchpad from the pile of crumpled news-like print and handed it over to him. He held it high above his coffee mug and the table itself as he watched her meticulously take each paper and flatten them out, staring at one before either putting it to the side or crumpling it up again and throwing it out.

"Crap," she plucked a ball that had ended up in her coffee mug and wrinkled her nose in disgust before glancing at it and throwing it out. She kept doing it for a few minutes until the table was sort of cleared again and Steve set his pad down again. He watched as she leafed through the pieces of paper she had flattened out as best as she could.

"Um...there were others, but I think they may be in recycling or whatever happens to the garbage at the Tower," he pointed out, but she shook her head.

"Don't need it," her frown was more pronounced and Steve was struck at how similar she looked like the drawing of Peggy pouring over the map in the war room. The moment was broken a second later at the jerk of her head before she picked out one of the crumpled newsprint and pointed at the jawline. "Do you mind doing a quick sketch for me?"

"Uh, sure..." Steve flipped to a new page, "the jawline?"

"Yeah," she placed the rest of the slightly crumpled pieces of paper in front of him, "the eyes from this one, though make it a bit rounder with softer edging. Then probably take the nose and lips from these two, though I remember the lips being a bit thinner, at least I think they were. My memory's a bit fuzzy and hazy, but the gist is, I think I remember seeing someone with similar features in all of these sketches."

"Uh huh," he nodded absently as he quickly did a rough sketch of what she was asking for, adding the different facial parts and features she continued to rattle off to him before glancing up at her, "Hair?"

"See, that's what gets to me. I don't exactly remember," she stared at the face he had sketched, but with no hair she was shaking her head. "Maybe...maybe my cousin can remember the hair. I do know he was with me that day because it was a gala of sorts for bigwigs and both of our parents wanted us to make sure we knew who was who in SHIELD... We both ended up with cake on each other after deciding a food-fight was the best way to get revenge on each other for some weird fight we were having."

Steve had to laugh a little at the mental image of Sharon with cake all over her and caught the dirty look she shot at him in response. The look was broken with an eye-rolling grin before she gestured to his sketchpad. "May I?" she asked again and he handed it over, before the two of them got up and headed back into the Tower. Steve followed Sharon as she took the elevators down to Maria's office and knocked politely on her door.

"It's open," her voice was muffled on the other side, even though it was not exactly open and JARVIS let them through after deactivating the security protocols.

"Agent 13, Captain Rogers, what can I do for the two of you?" Maria looked up from her stack of paperwork, most of whom had headers that said _Stark Industries. _ Steve had known that Maria was the head of security for the Tower and other sorts of thing she oversaw, but it had never really hit him that she _was_ part of S.I. until he saw the small mountain of paperwork stacked on her desk.

"Sorry to bother you from paperwork, but is there any chance I can talk to Agent Coulson, er, more specifically Agent Triplett?" Sharon asked, eyeballing the paperwork with some distaste. "I was looking through Captain Rogers' sketches for Sergeant Barnes and identified features that made a composite face, but Agent Triplett would be able to further confirm."

"Sure," Maria did not look annoyed by the delay of her paperwork, but neither did she looked relieved and Steve figured she was one of those people who kind of enjoyed paperwork. He himself never liked it, especially if it was writing a letter of condolence on the front lines. But at the same time he understood it completely when it came to requisitioning or requesting ammunition or specialized items that could not be cobbled together from whatever resources the SSR had. He did remember Colonel Phillips complaining more than once about paperwork and signing off forms. He knew he was not supposed to hear it, but with his enhanced hearing, he could hear him complaining to his second-in-command as he had waited outside the command tent.

Maria stepped away from her desk and into an adjoining room where frame-like clear monitors were set up and tapped on one of the blank see-through screens as the whole room lit up. It looked a lot like the monitors both Tony and Bruce had been working on in the Helicarrier, though Steve still could not wrap his head around the technology and projection. On some level he understood that it was user-based, but _how_ it actually integrated a person as a base eluded him and he supposed would forever elude him. Technology was so far in advance that he knew he was at least lucky that he got how mobile phones worked now and the basic touchscreen.

There was a moment of static on the screen that was connected to London, before Agent Coulson's face popped up with his customary stoic look. He looked well, Steve noted, since the last time he had seen the Agent which was a little over a year ago before the whole HYDRA mess rained down upon them.

"Maria, got more news?" Coulson asked before nodding at them, "Agent 13, Captain Rogers."

"No, but Agent 13 is requesting to talk to Agent Triplett if he is on base?"

"Hang on," Coulson looked off screen for a moment, "hey Renee, can you get Triplett here? Thanks." He turned back to look at them, "He should be here in a few minutes; went upside for lunch with FitzSimmons and Dr. Foster." Coulson looked down for a second before rummaging for something, "I'm also sending the latest information we have on old requisition forms that we found in the archives here. I forgot to ask Captain-"

"Steve, Agent Coulson," Steve interrupted, "I'm not exactly part of the military hierarchy anymore. Semi-retired, or probably at this point retired, if you will."

"Still codenamed _Captain_ America," Coulson smiled blandly, "anyway, I was going to ask if you knew of any area in this bunker that secret files were hidden away?"

"The layout is the same?" he asked and Coulson nodded. Steve furrowed his brow as he thought for a moment, his mind instantly mapping out the areas he hoped were not touched. He knew the SSR bunker well, but even there were a few places he had not been allowed into, mostly in Howard's research area. "Howard had a few backrooms, I'm not exactly too sure what the base is laid out like now, but it should have been behind the secondary elevators before the exit to the Underground."

"That's where we found some of the files," Coulson confirmed and Steve nodded.

"Yeah, nothing else really...sorry," he apologized with a shrug, "I...wasn't exactly on the base that much except for mission briefs."

"Someone say mission briefs? Those are music to my ears!" Steve had never met Agent Triplett, but had to smile at his entrance into the frame of the comm. all grins and wide smiles. "Agent Coulson-oh hey...holy-"

"Agent Triplett," Steve greeted as he saw the telltale sign of giddiness overcome the dark-skinned agent's face, before he tried to mask it with a jerky nod. It was the same expression he had seen on Coulson's face when they had first met, but he was more or less used to it. Natasha had teased him saying that there had been an internal memo from Fury to all personnel not to gawk at him like a celebrity whenever he was at the Triskelion or working on missions with him. At least Rumlow and the rest of STRIKE Delta had the courtesy to _not_ gawk all the way up until they attacked him in the elevator.

"Antoine," Sharon said dryly next to him and Steve saw Triplett's gaze turn to her before he relaxed and rolled his eyes.

"Hi _Sharon_," he dragged out, "if you're here about that wire tap in Beirut, it wasn't me, it was him." He pointed straight at Coulson who looked mildly offended.

"Wiretap in Beirut?" one of Sharon's eyebrows rose, "interesting..."

"Forget I said anything," Triplett grinned, "so, what's the hubbub?"

"Do you remember this guy?" Sharon held up the sketchpad towards the screen as both agents sobered up from their momentary familial teasing. "Was at the gala that we got cake on each other."

"I remember that," Triplett said absently as he leaned closer to the screen as he stared, a frown on his face.

"Nothing on facial recognition that's a definitive match yet," Coulson said as Steve also saw another small screen taking the face that Sharon was holding up and running matches through the various agencies' databases as well as some he was not familiar with.

"I don't remember how his hair was, do you?" Sharon asked.

"Short? Slightly cropped with slight balding at the crown? He was definitely wearing a military uniform, though the cut was Germanic, I think? Also...probably had a monocle. Add some shadowing to his jawline I think...five o'clock..." Triplett had closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and Steve took the pad from Sharon's hand and pulled a pencil from the back of his pocket to do a rough sketch of what Triplett was saying.

"Scars, I remember a scar...near his right eye going down. It was pretty thin, now that I think about it, knife made, or stiletto. Something really thin and deep. Kind of hugged his jawline and ended at his chin. Maybe it was a message...maybe not?"

Steve heard the door open to the anteroom in Maria's office, but did not really acknowledge whomever had come through, deep into his sketch as he used his sling arm as a temporary stand to hold his sketchpad still. It ached at the pressure and angle he was keeping it at, but he would leave it up to his healing abilities to sort it out later.

"Stark, Dr. Banner, Mr. Wilson," he heard Coulson greet.

"JARVIS told us something was up, so we decided to wake up and smell the coffee, wait, that's coffee right?" he heard Stark behind him and out of the corner of his eye, saw Sharon move her mug away from Stark's hands as he reached out for it.

He ignored whatever else was going on as he added the details that Triplett had given to Sharon's sketch. After a few minutes, he flipped the sketchpad towards Triplett again. "This him?"

"Yeah! That's the guy-"

Everyone stared at the sudden pinging on the database at the same time there was also an echoing pinging sound on Coulson's end. The database had found someone matching what Steve had drawn.

"...Who the hell is Baron von Strucker?" Tony asked into the stunned silence.

Sam reached over towards the monitor displaying the name and dragged out the text line before sending it into an exploded view, "A businessman with ties to Roxxon Oil and apparently the Baron of some small hamlet near the border of Austria and Germany. He's noted to have donated a lot of funds to SHIELD and was one of the people who submitted Alexander Pierce's name for a Nobel Peace Prize bid. There's other stuff here, but it's not exactly great reading..."

"Probably funded HYDRA through Pierce," Tony muttered next to Steve as he stepped forward to peer at Strucker's file with Sam, "where's he now so we can flush this bastard out?"

"London..." Coulson spoke up and they looked at him to see him and Triplett frowning, looking off screen, "he's not exactly hiding and is actually here for a business conference..."

"I'll coordinate with May for a surveillance team-"

"Do that, but I don't want anything getting back to us, not even a hint. If he's playing it out in the open like this, he has friends in high places. It's enough that we have Thor here to make sure HYDRA doesn't do anything funny, but we don't need any more black-eyes from MI5 or any of the other MI divisions," Coulson nodded at Triplett's suggestion before turning to them, "is this the guy?"

"I...don't know," Steve shook his head at Coulson's oblique question regarding Bucky, "I..." He glanced at Bruce who shook his head.

"Sergeant Barnes is still being sedated. We'll know in a few days, Agent Coulson," Bruce said and Coulson nodded.

"I understand. We'll keep an eye on Strucker. His visa doesn't expire until the end of the week. Maria, if you can flag his business ventures-"

"Will do," Steve had almost forgotten that Maria was standing behind all of them, quiet and out of the way as was her custom, but always observing and ready to help in a moment's notice.

"We'll keep in touch then," Coulson reached out and disconnected the link and Steve turned to Sharon who had a pensive expression on her face.

"How-"

"He was a guest at that party and I thought he was one of those politicians that always got invited to those types of parties when Antoine and I were young. If we knew...back then..."

"Nothing you could have done save for a time machine," Sam stepped forward, "at least we now have a potential lead."

"Yeah..." she still looked pensive and Steve reached out and caught her on the shoulder.

"Sharon, thank you," he said and she nodded, some of the stress easing from her expression as she left the room. He watched her for a moment as the others took their leave before Bruce came up to him.

"Steve, do you have a moment? I...uh, started to look at the files we got from D.C. You're going to want to see this," Bruce looked a little uncomfortable, but Steve nodded and gestured with his sketchpad for him to lead the way. It was a start and he hoped it would at least give them some answers.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

A gentle reminder that I don't write ships or pairings, I write friendships and epic bromances (and sisterly love for whatever the heck the sister-equivalent is for bromance). That said, I may inch characters towards ships, but I won't necessarily write romance – it's just not my cup of tea and I much prefer drama and action over a romantic story.

My head!canon has it that Steve sketches whenever he's stressed out. And I read somewhere that Agent Carter's second love (and eventual husband) is Gabe Jones who is Triplett's grandfather, making him and Sharon related somehow (in this story, she's second cousins with him).


	10. Chapter 10

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 10_

They arrived in the lab in short order and Steve frowned as he saw that Bucky was also in Bruce's lab, albeit still sedated.

"I moved him once I found some of the files detailing what had been done to his mind. Unfortunately I can't get a proper scan of his mind unless he's in the lab. Don't worry, I'll move him back up once I'm done," Bruce apologized as he stepped around the medical bed Bucky was on.

Steve stood by his friend's bedside, noting that his right arm was wrapped up in heavy tight gauze, especially on his shoulder. "You set his shoulder and arm?" he asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Reset it," Bruce was bringing up the files, "that way he shouldn't be in much pain anymore when we take him off of sedation. There are a few bones that already set themselves that I don't want to re-break or reset since it would damage his nerves even further, but his accelerated healing is compensating for that."

"Thanks," Steve could not help but stare at Bucky, his fingers twitching a little to not hold his friend's hand as he lied on the bed. They still didn't really know how much of the modified super soldier serum Bucky had been given in comparison with him; but Steve knew from experience that whenever he had been sedated, it did not exactly do its job, keeping him just a bit under, but also keeping himself highly aware of his surroundings and if people touched him. He did not want to accidentally wake Bucky, especially since they still did not know if he would viciously attack in a fugue state or watch them with a wariness of a cornered prey.

"I emailed a few colleagues of mine who are in the psychology field a few days ago with Bucky's brain scans – don't worry, I didn't tell them whom the scans were of – and got some replies back just now," Bruce gestured for him to come to his corner of the lab and opened up a holographic projection of Bucky's brain with a few added notes that was not in Bruce's hand writing.

"It's not ECT, electroconvulsive therapy, as I had originally thought and the data we got from D.C. all but seconds it," Bruce explained, "besides, it seems my initial hypothesis was way off base. One of my colleagues was saying that modern-day ECT, though still trying to shake off it's terrible reputation from decades ago, is much better now at helping people. Anyway, they did point to the dark spots and also the incisions made in the lobes that I pointed out a few days ago as points of concern."

Steve nodded absently as he crossed his arms across his chest, "You think the dark spots may be created by whatever was in the chair? Tesseract and or Chitauri sceptre?"

"That's the current hypothesis," Bruce said, "but the video files I've managed to go through don't show anything like it. The just show the different types of...uh...conditioning...procedures – Steve it's not pretty what they were doing to Barnes. Unfortunately these files were only sporadic and timestamped all over the place. It makes me think that there were other places."

"Like the Red Room?" Steve asked as he absently touched part of the projection and brought up a slew of pictures. It was an effort to force himself not to react in anger or throw _something_ at the images that clearly showed Bucky being tortured in the god-awful chair they had seen in the bank vault. Part of him wished he had completely trashed it on his way out when HYDRA attacked, but the other part of him knew that it was too late to go back and do anything.

"I've asked JARVIS to tag the chair and everything in the vault after I saw this stuff to make sure that the CIA or any government agency doesn't start using this for their own programs," Bruce's voice was tight and Steve nodded grimly.

Perhaps there had been a time three years previous, in his own mind, when he had been fighting against HYDRA for the good of the war effort that he would have thought the government was right in what it was doing, but now, after all that had happened, that naivety was long gone. Surprisingly it was Alexander Pierce he had to thank for that – and maybe Fury's political game and schemes – but mostly Pierce for breaking that illusion that not all government agencies or governments were that benevolent for the good of the people. He glanced over to Bucky's unmoving form and could almost wistfully hear his best friend making a crack about how cynical he had gotten.

"I wish Romanov or Barton was here. They could make heads or tails about whether or not we found a Red Room hideout," Bruce continued, "but I'm guessing it could be a Red Room. There are definitely others since there's a whole section of mission reports with a few dates that don't match up to some of the video and notes." He flicked over an icon of a folder that was labeled with (24).

He glanced over to Bucky, feeling oddly like a voyeur even though he knew what the number meant. It was more than likely the number of missions the Winter Soldier had been credited with as completed. Whether or not it was an official number over seventy years, it still felt personal to Steve. The fact that his friend had twenty-four _official_ kills to his name... It was not that he disliked death or killing; he knew that his own strength, even just the lightest of taps, could instantly snap someone's neck, and knew of the necessity of it in war and combat. It was that these were sanctioned kills, these were not in combat situations, but _assassinations_. These were deaths that could have been easily avoided and Bucky had been manipulated and programmed upon horrific pain to himself, to finish them.

A very, very small part of him thought that perhaps it was a saving grace that Bucky did not exactly remember killing those twenty-four targets and whomever else was collateral damage. But he shook his head once to clear that thought out – it was not conducive to helping his friend regain his memories – even if he would potentially regain the memories of the targets that he had killed. Steve himself remembered each face he had killed, each mission the Commandos had undertaken, each time Captain America was in the field. The super soldier serum gave him a memory recall that was vivid and nightmarish at times when he could not sleep, especially the missions where his men and he had to do a few things that made them lose sleep in the end.

"Strucker's not in any of these images," he moved the file of (24) to the side to read later, or perhaps not really to read at all judging by how queasy his stomach was churning as he stared at the images. There was at least one or two images showing how Bucky had already lost his arm, clearly bleeding out on the operating table as a measuring tape of all things was next to it. He surmised that this was when they were trying to experiment on the regeneration factor his best friend had before giving up, outfitting him with his metal arm and working on his brain instead. He really wanted to strangle the scientists he could see in the photos, but judging by all of their lined faces and grey hair, they were more than likely dead in seventy years.

"Which makes me think that it may not be the guy Barnes is looking for," Banner shrugged but pointed out a figure in the farthest corner of one of the images. The face was blurry, but Steve could make out a few distinctive features like a heavily bushy, greying beard and bright keen eyes that looked oddly familiar. He could not recall where he had seen such keen eyes, but pushed it to the back of his mind. "This guy shows up in some of the pictures – here-" Bruce swiped his fingers across the screen several times, the images now overlaid with yellow circles showing the same person.

"That's not a coincidence," Steve murmured even though both of them knew the exact same thing. He frowned as he swiped between two images, one where it was a grainy black-and-white from probably the early years of Bucky's imprisonment to what looked like more modern times, even though some of the equipment looked a bit dated. "He...doesn't look like he's aged at all," he looked back and forth between the two, "JARVIS, can you identify this person?"

"No sir," JARVIS replied, "Doctor Banner has asked me to search the databases since he discovered what you have found, but there is no match. I have tried enhancing the image, but there is no match."

"I mean, it's nearly impossible to disappear in this day and age, but you can do it," Bruce rubbed his chin, "I managed to, until I kind of got attached to staying in one place since there wasn't any problems with the Other Guy. Even had a dog at one point. Maybe this guy is really dead?"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Steve stared at the two images before an idea occurred to him, "maybe Strucker's the one taking some of these images or recordings if they're from recordings?"

"Maybe," Bruce conceded, "that didn't occur to me until now, but it makes sense if he's not in these images. Though I still don't know." JARVIS helpfully displayed the file the various spy agencies in the world had compiled on Baron von Strucker. "Says here, huh...no purported birth date, just an estimated birth date..."

"JARVIS do these two faces match up to Strucker? Could he have changed it with plastic surgery or some alterations? Or even one of those mask things that Natasha used to impersonate Councilwoman Hawley?" Steve asked.

"Standby sir," the A.I. said before a few seconds passed, "no sir. There is no match for either. As for Agent Romanov's technology, I believe that was created only very recently."

Steve cursed silently as he sighed and flicked the images away. There was no way to know until Bucky woke up and from what Bruce had said, it would not be for the next few days.

He glanced over to Bruce as the shorter man clapped him on the shoulder, "There is some good news to all of this." He watched as the doctor brought up the what was clearly the latest brain scans done on Bucky and saw that there was a noticeable difference in the dark spots.

"They're lighter," he absently poked one of the spots, "that's good, right?"

"I think so," Bruce said, "it means whatever's going on is definitely waning since he's been here. I'm guessing that actively fighting the programming in him is helping him both regain his memories, and also combat the programming at the same time, trying to mentally confuse it. _I think._ These are the spots in the area associated with memories, but we don't really know if its the memory fading or the programming. I think it could be either or, considering the fact that he stopped trying to kill you – but then again, he did pass out from the pain, so it's a very good 'I think'."

Steve wisely did not note that Bruce sometimes sounded like Tony, especially when he was unsure or did not have a positive hypothesis he was excited about. Instead, he jerked his head towards the image, "So the dark spots will eventually fade to normal?"

"That's the rub," Bruce collapsed the brain scan to show the whole of Bucky's brain, "there's no change in his frontal lobes and some of the darker spots deeper in the temporal lobe. Which means he's probably getting memories back, but something is still trying to force him to complete his programming. Or vice versa."

"You think it's the Tesseract or Chitauri sceptre technology?"

"More than likely yeah," Bruce said, "I never really scanned what it does to a person's mind and by the time the whole thing with Loki and New York was over, we didn't really think about it. I'm sure SHIELD did a complete workup on Clint and Dr. Selvig, but those files weren't in the dump that was on the internet."

"Fury probably didn't put those files on SHIELD servers..."

"Or someone in HYDRA might have taken them and wiped them off the servers," Bruce pointed out and Steve nodded.

"I remember that Dr. Foster did some research into it a few years ago?" he asked and Bruce nodded.

"Yeah, the sceptre was housed at Green Bank before Thanos sent the Chitauri there. I can ask Maria to ask Jane about what she was looking at, though I think it may have been related more to her Einstein-Rosen bridge theories and wormhole travels than anything else."

"Couldn't hurt to ask," Steve shrugged. They could use all of the information and resources at the moment, especially in light of the fact that alien technology could have been behind Bucky's brainwashing and programming. "Also, maybe ask Thor to ask Loki about the sceptre?"

Bruce winced, "Doubtful...I mean, you know as well as I do how he operates. If it's an advantage to him, he'll do it...or if it's got some serious consequences against Thor, he'll do it even though he'll just say it's for his own benefit instead of Thor's. Plus, he did leave the sceptre here two years ago as a 'gift' of sorts instead of taking it with him after Fenrir used it..."

Steve frowned as he thought over various excuses he could conceivably convince Loki to help them. At the same time, he also was wary of Loki's help, even though he knew the Asgardian held a very faint grudging respect for him. It was not noticeable at first glance, but Steve had noticed that Loki sometimes outright ignored him – as opposed to some of the more visceral reactions he had to Tony, Fury, Barton, and even Thor at times. Steve knew that Loki cared deeply for Thor, even though everything he did at first glance seem to benefit only himself. He recognized the self-sacrifice performed time and time again for his brother, and had wanted to tell Thor to really open his eyes to what his brother had done for him over hundreds of years, but at the same time knew it was not his place to step in-between the two of them. Maybe there had been something in Loki that Steve recognized as bits of himself and perhaps bits of Bucky that made him treat Loki like an ally after he had been on the run from Thanos with Thor in tow three years previous.

He really did not know, only that he still believed Loki deserved some kind of punishment for what he did to the innocents in the Helicarrier and in New York City – but not from Thanos; not from the being who held his very being, his soul with a geas, physically and mentally torturing him and forcing him to give up the Infinity Gauntlet and Tesseract. At least Thanos was not a problem anymore...or at least not for a while. Steve was not under any illusions that Thanos would escape, perhaps not in his lifetime, but more in Loki's and the whole geas contract would play itself out again. It at least gave time for Loki to figure out a way to break the geas he made with Thanos without dying; and he had no doubts that the Asgardian was feverishly doing the same at the moment.

That said, the only one Loki seemed to genuinely get along with – if his snippy remarks and off-hand comments was considered getting along - was Bruce. Steve had long figured it was because Bruce, or rather the Hulk, was the only one who had really earned Loki's respect by handily defeating him three years previous in New York. There was also the same respect to Natasha that Steve had definitely noticed, though it was hidden underneath the wordplay he would try to goad her into and she would respond with aplomb.

"Yeah," Steve conceded to Bruce's point. This was his and Bucky's problem, not Thor's and certainly not Loki's. "Can't hurt though..."

"At least give us some more facts even though it's probably magick related gibberish that we'll probably be getting back along with an underlying lecture about how idiotic we all are," Bruce smiled faintly and Steve felt the corners of his lips quirk up at the sour humor.

"JARVIS, in the info dump, was there any traces of where Loki's sceptre went?" he asked, briefly staring up at the ceiling as a habit before glancing at Bruce, "doesn't hurt to find out where it's been and maybe see if we could reverse something in it?"

"Yeah, but we have to be careful. Remember the last few times?"

Steve grimaced, remembering the fight he and Tony had in the bank vault of all places. A part of him wanted to apologize to Tony for what he had said, but another part of him held the grudging fact that there should have been some oversight into where his technology was going _before_ he had even become Iron Man. Also the last time they had even been near the sceptre was on the Helicarrier and that had been precarious at best.

"There is a notation in a file signed off by Director Fury saying it was taken to the Slingshot, Captain," JARVIS replied after a few minutes.

"Meaning, it's anywhere now, crap," Bruce grimaced as he collapsed the open image of Bucky's brain, "HYDRA probably has it and that thing while having the same composition, material, and radiation signature as the Tesseract, is way too small for me to do a broad spectrum search for it. I'll just pick up everything at that rate." He winced, "Sorry..."

"No worries doc," Steve replied easily, understanding that their initial search for the Tesseract while it had narrowed the search down considerably, Bruce had confessed that if Loki had not decided to stick the Tesseract high in the New York City skyline instead of burying it deep underground, the search would have taken days if not weeks.

"I'll keep searching through the files we got, seeing if there's something I can do to help your friend, but if this is really a hybrid alien tech we're dealing with..." Bruce did not finish the thought and shook his head before handing him the thumb drive with the files on it, "Here. You should look at this. I made copies onto my own lab servers – Tony made sure my stuff was completely off-grid and housed on another server so that no one knows I'm here – but this is yours."

Steve took the thumb drive, but paused, fingers on the small rectangular object as Bruce held onto the other end. He met the steady unmoving gaze of his friend, "Steve, it's really not pretty. The stuff I showed you just now? That's just the tip of the iceberg. If you...if you want to go a few rounds with the Other Guy afterwards..." Bruce chuckled bitterly, "I don't blame you if you want to after this..."

Steve nodded solemnly as Bruce let the thumb drive go and he stuffed it into one of his pockets. "I'll call Thor-"

"No, let me do it. Maybe I can at least tell Thor to leverage something from Loki about the sceptre he left behind," the other man shook his head, "you...need rest." He patted his fracture arm gently and Steve knew that he understood he was giving him some privacy to look over the files.

He nodded again before moving to the door, "Doc, Bruce, thanks. And don't forget, you're as human as all of us...okay? Get some sleep too..." It was not the best of comforting words he could say, considering that he had a feeling Bruce had seen the files and had the haunted look on his face, but it was the best he could do considering the circumstances. He glanced over to where Bucky was unconscious, his breath steady even though it was induced by sedation, and silently sent a prayer up to God to help him through this before leaving the lab.

* * *

It was two days later that Steve found himself in Tony's workshop, staring intently at the shield strap he was working on. "Hold it there," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the eyelet and tapped down on it firmly with the small hammer he was holding. Lifting his hammer up, his saw Dummy move its camera inquisitively at him, daring not to chirp with its clamps as it was still holding the strap and part of his shield in place. He blew quickly on what he had done and examined the finish eyelet hole he had just put into place.

"Okay you can let go," he said and the robotic arm released its clamp, chirping and whirring in place, pleased with what it had done. There was the soft squeak of wheels on his other side and Steve nodded absently to You who had been holding the other strap down so that he could mirror what he had done to that side. "You too, You," he addressed the other arm and it gently set his shield down as he worked the buckles made of a kevlar-weave material on the straps of his shield and slipped it onto his left arm.

He tested it by moving his arm up and down, the once-fractured bones already healed in two days time. When Bucky had ripped the shield from his arm during the battle outside the bank vault, it had broken the straps as well and Steve knew he had to replace them. Tony had suggested the fabric weave for him, telling him that it was stronger than what he had previously used and so far, Steve liked the feel of it on his arm. It was tight, but strong enough to withstand some jerky movements before he had started to attach it to his shield. Normally he had let Howard fix his shield whenever the straps broke in combat, and even SHIELD technicians when he had started working for SHIELD, but he had asked Howard long ago how to make his straps from ground up. It was mainly for field maintenance whenever the Commandos could not return easily to base, but Steve was glad for the crash course in sewing and repairs.

Tony had offered to repair his shield, but Steve had deferred, waiting for today to repair his shield. There was no significance in the day's date, but it was because Bruce had told him a few hours ago that he was going to bring Bucky out of sedation and Steve wanted to be near him, but not near enough that he was going to trigger headaches for his best friend.

"Captain, Butterfingers wishes to present to you more water," JARVIS' voice sounded exasperated and dry and Steve turned to see the last of Tony's robotic arms somewhat helpfully lifting a cup of crystal clear water. Just a half-hour ago, he had been presented with the same 'gift' by the robotic arm, except it was kind of murky-looking water. JARVIS had immediately told the arm to clean the sink that it had accidentally dumped a pot of dirt and hapless plant into before trying to give him more water.

"Thanks," he took the glass and saw the arm chirp happily before noting beyond the arm, the sink was still running. "Um, Butterfingers, the sink is still running..."

The arm tilted its claw-head to look at him, puzzled, before swinging to look at the sink and trundling over to it. Steve shook his head before setting the offered glass down onto the workstation he was using to repair the straps of his shield. He did not exactly understand _why_ Tony's robotic arms had taken a shine to him, crowding around him like overactive eager puppies of a sort, but at the same time, he admitted that they were pretty helpful – when not making a mess of Tony's workshop through their own programming eccentricities.

JARVIS had been helping him 'wrangle' them so to speak, but Steve could hear the exasperation in the A.I.'s voice; a very human-like exasperation that made him wonder more than once what kind of programming Tony had done to him. He knew Tony would have tried to keep the arms from crowding him after a while, but Tony was currently occupied down in the corporate sections of the Avengers Tower. He was following the corporate trail that Coulson had sent them a couple of days ago and in the midst of several conference calls with Pepper and Maria. Pepper had been due to fly from Malibu, California a day ago, but in light of the information sent over, had stayed to ensure accountability and since most of Stark Industries' paper files were located in storage facilities over there.

Steve knew that Tony missed Pepper a lot and was not inclined to bother him with the nuisance of his robots' behaviors when he could spend more time with Pepper on the phone or even just talking with her. He had done the same with Peggy whenever he could before the whole SHIELD-HYDRA fiasco. Since then, he had only managed to visit her at least once a month and even then dared not stay too long in case HYDRA got any ideas. He was not naïve to think that they did not know where Peggy was being housed, but at least in the past year, there had been no overt moves to harm her or hold her hostage to draw him out. He supposed that was one consolation that no one, not even HYDRA, wanted to touch a ninety-six-year-old woman without incurring the wrath of anyone and everyone. There was also the fact that Peggy still did not know that SHIELD had collapsed and HYDRA had been there from its inception. When he visited, he talked more about the Avengers than his missions with SHIELD to prevent himself from lying. She was still sharp at times, and he knew he was a terrible liar.

It was something echoed by Sam more than once when they had spent the past year looking for Bucky. As far as excuses went whenever they thought to have happened upon a clue or needed information, Sam had taken over to spinning a story to the locals or authorities they came across while he had stayed quiet and out of the way. Sam had spent the last two days in the VA center in the Bronx finalizing his transfer from Washington D.C.'s branch. After this morning's run, his friend had tried to make an excuse to test his wings and Steve had waved him off, knowing that his friend itched to be in the air after the ground battle at the bank.

Sharon had also reported to the CIA New York headquarters a few blocks away near Tudor Place and Steve briefly wondered if there were any consequences for her to leave her posting in Washington D.C. He supposed that she was probably giving them a briefing on what had happened and hoped that she was allowed to return to at least let them know why HYDRA had arrived at the bank instead of the CIA. There had been a brief thought that the CIA had been infiltrated by the remnants of HYDRA like SHIELD had, but Steve did not want to dwell on that negative thought. All of the agencies across the world were more vigilant about who they recruited, who was within them after SHIELD had imploded.

Steve assumed that Thor had left for Asgard, but there had been no word from Coulson regarding their resident alien since then.

"JARVIS, is Bucky awake?" he asked as he flexed his arm within the straps and swung it horizontally back and forth, feeling the straps dig into his forearm as it met some air resistance, but the straps held.

"In the midst of regaining consciousness, Captain," JARVIS replied.

"Good, I'll head down to the gym in case he wants to wander into the workshop," he hopped off the bench, gathering the tools to one side of the workstation before heading over to the door and exiting. He waved an absently goodbye to the arms who chirped at him, including Butterfingers spraying drops of water everywhere.

"I will let sir know of the water," JARVIS said resignedly as the doors to the elevator opened and Steve stepped in.

He arrived shortly at the floor where the Tower's gym, including a section literally built into the outside of the building for rock climbing or in Clint's case, a sniper's nest, and stepped in, finding it empty. The tower personnel that worked for Stark Industries had a different gym on another level, one more geared towards the fitness culture of the United States these days. This gym was specifically built with the Avengers in mind, with weights far beyond what a normal person would be able to lift, targets, and weaponry practice that also doubled as a training simulation at times. The walls were also built to withstand the paces he put his shield through and that was what Steve was counting on.

"JARVIS, run the road course," he asked and watched as a virtual grid of sorts dimmed the gym into a training room and a generic city street, a blend of New York, London, and the wider areas of cities like Houston, were incorporated.

"The record is five minutes, thirty-four seconds, and fifty-six milliseconds, Captain," JARVIS said after the course flashed once to signal that it was ready.

"Got it," Steve replied before crouching and readying himself. He breathed out steadily before flinging his shield, hitting the first painted target. The race was on.

* * *

**Author's Notes/Additional Notes:**

Quick summary of the two previous stories this chapter references in the _Trickster Universe – Atonement _and _Coterie_:

- Loki was not punished by Odin, but was watched at all times by Thor, Sif, and The Warriors Three after his return to Asgard following _The Avengers_ – this was because Odin knew that Thanos would come after Loki for his failure in securing the Tesseract. (He wanted to protect Loki, but didn't exactly express that sentiment really well – Odin has a hard time explaining things...)

- There's a very ancient history between Odin and Thanos, stretching back to Bor's reign and it is revealed that Odin has two other brothers, Loki (whom he named his adopted son after), and Baldr. Loki Borson killed Baldr Borson after events and being manipulated by Thanos to kill Baldr and in turn was killed by Odin who then assumed the throne after being second-in-line.

- The current Loki (Odinson) had made a geas contract with Thanos to obtain what he needed in turn for the Tesseract – geas contracts are part of blood magick and are very volatile to use – Thanos used it to control Loki in his subsequent attack on Asgard for the Infinity Gauntlet, but in the end Loki managed to outwit him and with the Avengers, Asgardians, and Jotuns, imprisoned Thanos in the Tesseract itself.

- One year passed since Thanos' imprisonment until the Avengers stumbled upon a rogue HYDRA cell operated by one of Loki's coterie, Jormungandr. The history behind the coterie was one that ultimately started to turn Loki from a very optimistic young prince to what he was in _Thor_ and _The Avengers_. Essentially, the coterie were shunned for their unnatural magical abilities (magick usage is not forbidden in Asgard, but it's not exactly openly displayed either) and the coterie, out of a sense of twisted righteousness tried to assassinate the House of Odin (Thor, Odin, and Frigga) to install Loki as their new king. Loki disagreed with this approach and killed a majority of his coterie before asking Odin to spare Fenrir, Hel, and Jormungandr's lives and for them to be imprisoned instead.

- The coterie operating one year after Thanos' imprisonment, were under Thanos' orders (through Lady Death herself – Thanos' lover) in a convoluted plot to get himself out of prison by killing Thor and using Thor as a bargaining chip against Odin to free himself. Fenrir eventually disregarded those orders and decided to kill Loki out of a jealously, grief, and rage for spurning him long ago (they were lovers).

- In all of this, Thor waffled back and forth between trusting his brother and not-quite-trusting him (and eventually maybe realizing how much Loki had sacrificed for him because on some very, very deep corner, Loki cared for him like all siblings do).


	11. Chapter 11

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 11_

He had been sedated again, the familiar feeling coursing through him as he instinctively assessed his surroundings with closed eyes. The bed itself was firm, soft blankets covering him along with the coarse feeling of linen pants and sleeveless shirt. He could feel the twist and slight dimpling of newly healed skin on his torso and elsewhere; a clear indication that he had been injured, but the injuries had just healed. The feeling of cold was absent and he knew he was more than likely back at the Avengers Tower, judging by the soft smell of clean cotton sheets and muffled sound of blaring traffic. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face and knew there was a window near his bed, the brightness of the sun behind his eyelids telling him that it was perhaps mid to late afternoon.

He remembered-

His eyes snapped open at the absence of the familiar aching, dulled pain that had constantly settled behind his eyes. An unnamed, unfamiliar yet so familiar panic clawed at him as he tore away the sheets, lurching up, ignoring the dizziness from the lack of food-

"Whoa, whoa, settle down there for a second," the voice that spoke up followed by an unnaturally strong grip on his arm made him growl, ready to lash out and snap the neck of this interloper that dared to interfere-

Only to stop as he met the steady, unmoving gaze of dark brown eyes flecked with green-

_He was met half way, taking the full-bodied tackle to the stomach as he folded and let their momentum carry them tumbling down the stairs to the bank. The target had exposed himself just so- Or not, he noted as a gigantic roar filled the air and the man who had cowered behind him earlier burst out, all muscled, green, and furious. He did not know what kind of creature it was, but he could see the angry brown-eyes flecked with green as his vision was obscured by pavement and the target's attempt to pin him to the ground._

This man, this same green-furious-muscled man - not muscled now - that held him was not his target, but was far from innocent either and at the same time, was someone he knew instinctively not to anger or get close to. This man was to be taken out from far away or not even at all.

"There you go," the man said in a soothing tone, almost too calm for his liking and it pricked at something uncomfortable within him. It was not fear, he knew that as much, but rather it was caution. He felt the firm grip on his flesh-and-blood arm loosen before the man held up his hands in front of him, palms facing him, as if he was submitting to him, showing that he was unarmed. "See? Just letting you go-"

"The..." he wet his lips, feeling his throat suddenly dry as he put the puzzle of _what_ this man, this non-target creature was, to the side, "...target- Rogers-"

Something in the man's eyes lit up and he nodded before giving him a faint smile, "He's alive..." His fingers waved in the air before a projection lit up the space in between them showing a spy camera feed of the target.

He grunted softly at the sudden bloom of pain in between his eyes and gritted his teeth at the video feed of the target- Rogers, throwing his shield at targets in what was clearly a training room of sorts. He had not killed him-

_"You're fighting it, please, fight it...you're stronger than-"_

He had fought, he had tried to fail the test, but the test had overwhelmed him, had tried to take control- No! He had _fought_, he had _believed_. He had warned the targ- warned Rogers to _not_ go into combat – that he _would_, should, _had_, targeted him because he could keep his stupid punk-ass idiotic self out of a fight-

_"I had him on the ropes-_," _Steve brushed the blood from his lips as he shook his head and rolled his eyes._

_ "-on the ropes," he finished nearly at the same time and looped an arm around his shoulders, "Sure you did." He could never stay away from a fight, even in the theatres as he leaned down and picked up the enlistment form that had fallen out of Steve's pockets during the fight, he inwardly shook his head. [4F] The jackass who had been wailing on his best friend had it coming if Steve was willing to come to blows with him over what had to have been something against the troops overseas._

Rogers had fought anyway, his silvery red-white-blue shield flashing this way and that, taking out HYDRA soldiers that had ambushed them. He had fought without a care in the world, a _trust_ to not put a bullet in his head and it had _hurt_. Oh, how much it had hurt, to resist, to _not_ fail, to fail, to stop the agony that had screamed at him to finish the job, finish his mission. That he _was_ his mission and he needed to complete it-

He had shouted at the heavens why, why must he complete it, why, why, why and it had screamed back, squeezing him like a vice that choked and clawed at him, that he must finish the mission that he could not fail, that if he failed- It drove him mad, drove him to attack Rogers, because he could, and because he needed validation, that he could not resist- that his fight-that he had fought- That the pleading of pain, to stop it, to somehow not have that much pain, that much hurt coursing through him, burning him-

_"I will keep killing...you...until you..."_

It had been no use – death was not an option.

It had been a test and _he_ had succeeded, but he had failed.

His eyes had been blue, and they had _promised_.

_"And I'll keep protecting you, even if you can't."_

'Till the end of the line.

He had protected the target from himself, from the pain, from the programming, from the _command_. And that...that was-

"Good," he whispered as he opened eyes he did not know he had closed and stared at his hands blankly. His eyes absently traced the curved, callouses of his flesh-and-blood one before looking at the metal one with the faint sensation of touch. The momentary absence of pain that had defined his moments since walking into the Avengers Tower puzzled him, but it was something he did not currently dwell on and pushed it aside as he focused more on the more immediate sensation of his flesh-and-blood arm – that the stiffness and occasional twinges of pain were completely absent. He was a weapon and thus knew every ache and pain that had been inflicted upon him by others or by himself in escaping traps, ambushes, and those willing to retaliate against him. He knew the sensation of chilled ice, of cold lethargy, the painful hypersensitive burn of ice-cold blankness that was immediate coming out of cryostasis, of sedation – cotton-like – and of things that enabled him to do his job, to carry out his commands.

"I, uh...reset your shoulder, well, after Steve kind of dislocated it again trying to stop you," the man sitting next to his bed looked a little sheepish, "um, also took the opportunity to reset some of your other bones in your shoulder and arm so you shouldn't have much nerve impingement anymore."

He flexed his fingers, noting the minute difference of reactionary time in them, the lack of stiffness that had plagued him since he had dragged the target-dragged Rogers out of the Potomac. A very small part of him wanted to scream and shout that he needed to be incapacitated, that having stiffness was good because then he could not kill the target- But ruthlessly quashed it down – since when did he need to be incapacitated to feel guilty for killing a target?

He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing away the insistence to go and deal with Rogers at this moment, because he had been almost completely healed and he would not get another chance- That the training room Rogers was running through was perfect, would never see him coming- _No!_ He would not- He would fail the test and _pass it_. He would succeed in the test and _fail it_.

He opened his eyes, noting his breath was a little ragged, but the man that was sitting next to him did not say even a word. He expected judgmental eyes-

_Those eyes always evaluated him, not kind or unkind either, but calculating and seeing him as the Soldier he was._ _He never wore a lab coat, the only faint memory that was not quite tangible, but not intangible either. He and the other man. One in a business suit, cut differently, one in military uniform that he could not place, monocle ever present. They, the others, wore lab coats and he dismissed them from his mind._

-but instead saw a steady gaze that belied pain, yet was not condescending in any sort of sentiment of shared experience or nonsense like that. No, the eyes that met his gaze were a simple one that brook no judgment or of understanding. They were just simple and watched him, waiting.

He knew that this man's voice was steady, sometimes too unnaturally steady, and with eyes and seemingly unafraid of being near him. That housed the green monster that tore through the bank and into the HYDRA soldiers... This was someone who made no judgments upon others because he had been judged too many times _by_ others – more than likely to have been found lacking. And somehow, he understood him like he understood the man named Tony Stark. This man was not his enemy, but neither was his ally. This man was also not a tool to be used nor to be discarded. This man was just that.

"Steve finished your sketch," the man said and he stared at him, his interest piqued. He knew that Rogers had been sketching since Stark had relayed his request, noting the scraps of paper littering the various wastebaskets around the Tower. Rogers had shown him the various sketches, faces that looked almost like the one that haunted his dreams and waking hours. The face he _knew_ would help regain his fractured mind, regain a sense of who he truly was – not the Soldier, not this "Bucky" that Rogers called him and at the same time so hauntingly familiar that he _wanted_ to respond and be true.

"I'll show it to you in a second," the man shook his head and patted to the familiar sketchbook that was wedged in between the back of the chair and his back. "But first," the man drew out a small manila envelope that clearly contained something bulky. Judging by the various rectangles he could see it was set on the small end table next to his bed, some of it was money, most likely American dollars by the shape and size of the rectangles.

"This is for you," the man said, pushing the envelope towards him a bit and he stared at it for a long moment. It did not look harmful, but he was suspicious as to why he was being handed an envelope that contained money and other objects in it.

"Is this a test?" he asked, his voice cracking on the words and he dry swallowed, trying to get some moisture into his parched throat. Sedation always came with the cotton-mouthed feeling and he knew that there was the long-buried memory of stuffing cotton balls into his own mouth, next to the memories of a younger, youthful Rogers. There was a glass of water on the end table, but he dared not reach for it. If it was a test, then perhaps there was something in the water and he did not want to suddenly end up cold-pain, memory gone-lost-

He forced himself to focus, flicking his gaze back up to the mild-mannered man who looked a little disconcerted before answering with a hesitant nod.

"Yes...and no...?" the man seemed unsure by his own answer and seemed to war with something inside him before nodding a little more decisively, "I...saw the videos of you, of what they did to you in that vault and can probably also guess that they also did things to you elsewhere. I mean, I want to say no, it's not a test, but yeah...it's a test if you want to look at it that way...? Maybe? I'm...not really good at this...but I don't want Steve to do this and Tony certainly not. Maria's more liable to treat you like an asset, which you aren't, so yeah...err...now I'm rambling."

He took the proffered envelope and tore it open, dumping the contents out onto his lap where they pooled amongst the blankets he had been given. One tiny square metal object in a small plastic bag. He instantly recognized it as what Stark had been working for his arm before they went to D.C. He set the object aside, Stark having told him where it was to be put and could easily have done it himself once it had been finished.

The envelope also contained one passport, labeled with the name [Gilberto de Pietro] filled with a few stamps of other countries, he had visited, namely South American ones. Bits of Latin American Spanish and Portuguese flitted across his mind as he rolled the name around his head, accenting it in the right places, and could almost imagine introducing himself as such a name. But it felt foreign, almost a floating-dreamlike quality, much like the other names he had used in his missions. The codename he had been given, Winter Soldier, felt a little more solid in his head. The rank and name Stark, SHIELD Agent Maria Hill, and the others had been calling him, "Sergeant Barnes" went deeper, felt more solid; but none of them felt as solid, or as painful as when he heard the target-heard Rogers call him "Bucky" or even "James Buchanan Barnes."

"_Gilberto de Pietro_," he tested the name out loud before putting the passport down to the side, and picked up several neatly folded sheets of paper. Opening them up, he could see that they were official-looking medical forms for the metal arm, stamped with Stark Industries' logo everywhere, noted with composition, medical reason, and the signature of some doctor he suspected did not exist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something in the other man's look sharpen and realized that the signature at the bottom was signed by this man.

"Dr. Rick Jones," he looked over to see the man shrug.

"Not my real name, I'm Bruce Banner, but I can't exactly use it to sign off on technical specs and medical stuff," the man made an abortive movement as if to lean over and shake his hand, but decided against it at the last minute. "Kind of like you...hiding from people who want me dead, want me alive, want me for...well...not pleasant things."

The name Bruce Banner had been a vague notation in his memories and in the mission files, mostly associated with a General Ross, but he could see the guarded look the other man wore. Banner was not afraid of him, but rather that fear was directed at something else, something that worried him far more than what had happened in Washington D.C., the past week, or for a very long time. He saw Banner shift in his seat, gesturing to the papers he held.

"It was Maria's idea, really, hiding you in plain sight. Those will get you past TSA and if they do give you problems, Stark Industries has the best lawyers so you really shouldn't have any problems. In ways, you're like me, hiding from HYDRA or other agencies that want you dead or worst, want to use you-"

He curled his metal hand into a fist, feeling the brief wash of anger before forcing himself to push it away. No one would take his memories away and use him.

"-so Maria's been hypothesizing that you're probably going to want to leave as soon as you get the name and face that you wanted Steve to sketch. I don't blame you, I kind of want to go after those bastards too after what I've seen done to you. I know that Tony said that you might be willing to play ball with us, let us be the spear tip in your mission against these guys who did this to you, but I think we all know that you would probably want to seek vengeance by yourself," Banner cleared his throat a little. "If this is really the guy that you're going to hunt, we won't stop you."

He narrowed his eyes, staring at Banner, "There is a catch."

Banner nodded, "We want to help you."

He could see the truth in the words, the sincerity, but shook his head. This was the test, this was to see if he would fail or if he would pass. Like the many _games_ played where they would shock him, put him in the cold-darkness, water-

It was a test and he was-

-he was...failing?

No.

It was a test and he was-

-he had...passed?

No.

He stared at Banner. If it was a test...but it was not a test...then...

"We want this son of a bitch as much as you," Banner continued, "because of SHIELD, because of HYDRA, because this guy ruined the life of two people, one of whom we don't really know yet, but we feel like we're starting to know, one of whom who supports him tirelessly and will never give up."

"...till the end of the line..." the words fell from his lips before he could stop them, knowing exactly whom Banner was talking about.

Banner had a faint sad smile on his face, "You know he'll follow you if you do leave, right? It may take a few days and I'm sure you'll probably leave him false trails, but he'll follow you."

_And follow him he did. It was only after he had read some of the records in Steve's file – happening upon them from a very lovely young blonde-haired secretary with the name of Lorraine, who worked under Colonel Phillips – that he realized the night he was due to ship out was when Steve had successfully enlisted. Steve had literally followed him to the HYDRA facility – a few months late – but had followed him nonetheless. Too stubborn, too tough, too damn foolish to realize that it was war and good boys were dying left and right._

_ And he was grateful as hell because there was no one else he could ask to watch his back as he watched little Steve Rogers' to ensure that maybe they both could get out of this war alive._

"...Stubborn punk," he muttered, letting the memory wash over him, even though he winced at the lancing pain that stabbed across his temple and to the back of his head. He saw the faint, sad smile pull a little wider on Banner's face at his comments.

"Listen," Banner leaned forward a little, "I'm not really a good person to sound off on, or even be talked at – heck ask Tony, I slept through some of his monologues, but the fact that in all this time, even when you had been programmed to kill Steve, you've hesitated. Do you know what that tells me?"

He only arched an eyebrow at Banner, his face expressionless, but feeling the curl of something hungry, something that _wanted_, a validation that he did not know had existed. This was what the tests were for, right?

"That you...James," there was a moment where he thought Banner had hesitated on the name, but it passed too quickly for him to make anything of it, "that there a strength in you, fighting, unwilling to bend to any rules, any commands, anything that isn't your own will. It's a testament to the strength of your character that you have been able to resist and even fight back."

They were comforting words, they were words he knew that had to be said, but somehow, he felt a little empty from them. It was not... It was not the validation he had been seeking. But neither did it leave him with a completely empty feeling. He only blinked as Banner sat back, disappointment in his eyes, but pushed the emotion aside as he reached behind him and pulled out the sketchbook.

"We, the Avengers, want to help you, if you'll let us," Banner said before opening the sketchbook-

_"Again..."_

_ His breath was harsh, a gasping wheezing sound before every single one of his muscles seized and a strangled scream emerged from his lips. He tried to shake his head, tried to plead for it to stop, for the buzzing whining sound to stop. It hurt so much-_

_ "Stop."_

_ And suddenly he could breathe again, the black spots fading, slowly fading, as he turned his head to stare at the impassioned face that stared back. He wore a monocle, something that had always stuck with him, a part of him thinking it would have been an amusing thing to tell to-_

_ -tell-_

_ Who was he going to tell? He...he did not know...just...the pain-_

_ "Again..."_

_ "No..." he breathed, tried to speak, "p-please-" His words hitched upon the rubber guard on his mouth as he choked and tried to swallow his spit- Choking on it- arcs of agony lashing at him-_

"Hey! Hey!"

He lashed out, the whine of his functional arm slamming into something, breaking cracking- He pushed at the sheets that tangled up on his feet – he needed to get away – could not breathe-

"_James! James!_"

He froze at the name, something in him reaching out, grasping onto it and holding on for dear life as he drifted, flailed, drowned.

"_James!_"

He snapped open eyes he had not known he had closed and looked up from where he had crouched on the ground. It was also then that he realized on the peripheral of his vision the utter destruction he had laid waste to half of the mattress, ripped out, with fluff and foam everywhere, the broken end table with a shattered lamp, mug of water broken and dripping into off-white carpeting and Banner, half-reaching out with a hand to him, but not so close to touch him. He had fugued again...

He grunted a little as he pushed himself up with his good hand from the ground and avoided looking at the mess. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Banner sigh and reach over and around him, picking up the scattered contents of what had been in the envelope and setting it in front of him, in a slight soggy mess.

"I...guess that's confirmation of the face?" Banner commented mostly to himself as sat back against his chair and moved to close the sketchbook.

"Wait," he cleared his throat, stopping Banner mid-movement, "let me...let me see..."

Banner stared at him for a long moment before handing over the sketchbook with _that man's_ face at the forefront. Shunting aside the queasiness, the blinding memory of pain, of pleading, begging- He stared at the sketch of the man's face, tracing the familiar curves and angles, the facial hair that he knew had changed each time he had seen him, but the agelessness of lined youthfulness, the monocle...

"...His name is Baron Wolfgang von Strucker," Banner started quietly, "and he's currently in London, probably for the next few days before he returns to Austria. Agent Coulson is coordinating efforts with the SHIELD base there if you want to contact him. Maria wants us to make sure we have good intel before we hit him and take him in. The governments of the world are still a little leery that the Avengers were part of SHIELD and now only independent working for Stark Industries so we have to do some more intelligence gathering before we make our move."

Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. Baron von Strucker.

He had a name to go with the face and something curled in him like satisfaction as he lifted the other pages to close the sketchbook. He realized he had under-grabbed the pages and moved to completely close the sketchbook when his gaze fell upon the sketch in front of him.

_"Self-portraits are kind of vain, you know?" Steve had only stared at him as he used the last of the sunlight to put finishing touches on his latest sketch. The hot summer days of August were finally nearing the end and the rumble of distant thunder would bring some relief to the stifling heat that had plagued the city for two weeks now._

_ He clambered out of the fire escape window and joined him on the metal stairs, feeling the press of solid metal digging into the sore points on his body. It had been a long day at the factories._

_ "Most artists do them right?" he countered, "so, self portrait just for vanity's sake? For me?"_

_ Steve laughed, the hitching wheeze of his breath telling him that his best friend had an attack today, but was not as serious if he was willing to laugh. That was also one of the reasons why he was glad the summer heat was on its way out. Less chance of having a heat-stroke induced asthma attack on his frail body. "Who would remember a skinny little kid from Brooklyn?"_

_ "Besides me? No one, but tell you what, sketch me a self-portrait and I'll put it in one of the secretaries' desks at the factory. Hide it in the order forms and whatnot," he joked and Steve laughed again._

_ "Only if you get me her name," and he nodded._

_ "Promise, I swear."_

He had gotten Steve one of the secretaries' name, had not received the sketch, but never went on the promised double-date. Because he had gotten his orders and assignment the next day, to the 107th. The sketch and self-portrait in his hands was the face that he remembered, skinny, angular, narrow, but still bright eyes of someone who wanted to fight bullies and did not want innocents to be hurt.

"This is for you," a thumb drive appeared in his vision and he looked up to see Banner staring at him with an unreadable gaze, "it's all we got on Strucker as well as all of the files of what happened to you. It's all there if you want to look at it. There's a portable tablet in the desk over there...um..." He trailed off before standing up, "Listen...it's up to you. We won't stop you if you decide to leave since you've gotten your sketch and the name..." The other man looked like he was about to say more before shoving his hands into his pockets and walked out, leaving him alone.

He barely heard the door close as he stared at the self-portrait of Steve Rogers, _not_ Captain America Steve Rogers, but _Steve Rogers_.

_"I had them on the ropes," the tiny, squeaky voice spoke up behind him as the others ran away. It sounded like it was trying to be surly, but utterly failing to even sound threatening._

_ He snorted as he turned and offered his hand to the skinny little boy with the buck-teeth and bleeding nose. Skinny Steve Rogers was what everyone called him – and the nickname probably rang true, but he ignored the 'Skinny' part. "Sure. James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky."_

_ "I know who you are," Rogers said grouchily, taking his hand, but looked surly and defensively at him. "Everyone knows who you are."_

_ "Damn straight," he grinned, showing his own gaping teeth. He had just lost one yesterday and the Tooth Fairy had given him ten cents even. He was going to buy ice cream later on with it and eat until he was completely stuffed- "Hey, let's get some ice cream. Got money from the Tooth Fairy last night."_

_ The skinny blue-eyed boy stared at him, agog, "What?"_

_ "Ice. Cream," he repeated as if Rogers was stupid before grinning again, "Or maybe just use it to kind of stop your face from turning purple-" He grinned as Rogers frowned, fists balled, ready to strike him, "Just kidding, geez, stop taking everything so seriously."_

_ "Why," Rogers asked, lowering his hands as he absently wiped his bloodied nose on a sleeve._

_ He shrugged, "I hate bullies."_

He looked over to the projected video image of Rogers still running the obstacle course, apparently testing out the durability of his shield. Rogers was still alive. He had failed to kill the target, had failed in his mission. Twisting the thumb drive in his metallic fingers, he could feel the faint imprint and shape of the small rectangular object as he got up and walked over to the desk, stepping carefully over the debris that littered the room. He found the tablet that Banner had been talking about and plugged the drive in.

He hated bullies, he was sure of that. And if the man who haunted his waking dreams and foggy memories was the cause of that, then he was a bully.

And he wanted to find out how _he_ had been made into a bully, how _he_ had utterly failed his test of protecting _Steve Rogers_.

* * *

"Sir," JARVIS' voice was quiet and insistent, but Steve nonetheless jerked his head up at the noise, realizing that he had all but dozed off in front of reading more notes taken from the files in bank and watching another horrific video of the behavioral conditioning and experimentation done on Bucky.

"Y-Yeah JARVIS?" he blinked, his eyes feeling like sandpaper and glanced blearily at the clock to see that it was 5:42 in the morning and sunlight was already starting to dawn through the cracks of his curtains. He realized he had all but stayed up all night again to watch and read more footage of what had been done to his best friend. Sleep had been a slight issue since he had started to watch, his dreams twisted and confused; sometimes he felt like he was watching them torture Bucky, other times he was the one who was being subjected to the chair, waterboarding, begging for it to stop. Then there were the times when he thought he had found the place, rescued Bucky only for him to turn on him, stabbing him with a knife, yelling about how he should have been there for him, to not abandon him. He also had nightmares about Bucky falling from the train, his screams echoing and blending in with screams and pleading in _that chair_ that usually made him wake up with a start.

"You asked me to notify you if Sergeant Barnes left the premises," JARVIS said politely, "he left just a few seconds ago, headed around the corner into Grand Central Station."

"Did he take the envelope?" adrenaline shot through him as he rubbed his eyes roughly and closed the tablet, stumbling over the chair he had been sitting on, grabbing his wallet, credit cards, and keys.

"Yes sir," JARVIS replied as Steve sorted them into his pockets and grabbed his comfortable leather jacket.

"What's the next flight out of here to London?"

"JFK Delta Flight- Captain Rogers, Sir has asked me to counter your offer with a private jet of his own-"

"Tell Tony thanks but no thanks, I'm going after him alone-" he yanked open the door to come face to face with Tony and Sam, both whom had stony looks on their faces.

"Like hell you're doing this alone, Steve," Sam glared at him, "Remember? We're doing this together. I did not go globe hopping with you all last year just for you to do this alone when we both _know_ where the hell Bucky's going."

"And if not the private jet, I'm thinking quinjet so we can meet him on the tarmac when he gets there," Tony's voice was chipped and his eyes glittered with anger, "Cap-"

"No one's going anywhere, not at the moment," Maria's voice came from down the hallway and the three of them turned to see her walking towards them, Sharon trailing in her wake with a nervous look about her.

"Maria? Sharon?" Steve frowned before Maria produced an innocent-looking envelope from the folds of her business jacket.

"JARVIS, is Bruce coming down here?"

"Here," Bruce's voice came from where the elevators were as all of them turned to see him dressed in slightly rumpled clothes, a little sleep logged, "JARVIS said that he left-"

"Yeah, but that's not the main problem," Maria confirmed and handed the envelope over to Bruce who took it with a frown. "Agent 13?"

"I...I had orders to give this to you when I checked into the New York headquarters," Sharon looked pale, "I'm sorry Dr. Banner. Really... But...it's a subpoena for you to appear at an emergency field hearing in downtown New York City later this morning. I...I tried to tell them that you weren't a threat, that the Hulk isn't a threat-"

Bruce's very bitter laugh made her fall silent and Steve saw that he had opened the envelope and unfolded the pieces of paper inside. "Signed by General Thaddeus Ross...wonderful."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I'm amused at the unassuming way Bruce always takes over parts of my story. It's not sneaky like the various SHIELD agents POVs like Maria, Romanov, or even Coulson, nor is it barge-in-make-noise style like Stark, but very subtle. He's done it in the first two stories of my series and now is doing it again in this one. Well played Bruce Banner, well played.


	12. Chapter 12

Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

**Disclaimer:**

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

**Story:**

* * *

_Chapter 12_

"There was only so much you could have done Tony," Bruce said his head swiveling back and forth as Tony paced of the general length of penthouse area. Steve also watched Tony pace as he sat in one of the couches. He caught Bruce's look of resignation as he leaned against the bar, a deterrent against Tony trying to grab a few drinks for himself at the latest news. "They would have found me sooner or later after HYDRA took down SHIELD, you know..."

"Don't care," Tony's voice sounded like he was singing the words, but everyone heard the edge in it, "I'll get my lawyers to help fight this one-"

"Tony-"

"-Though they can probably navigate military tribunals or congressional subpoenas much easier than-"

"Tony-"

"-me, but don't worry, I'll handle this, you're an employee of Stark Industries-"

"_Tony!_" Bruce voice finally broke through his rambling and shut him up as he turned to stare at him from his pacing.

"_What_?" Tony's eyes had narrowed, annoyed with the interruption, "I'm trying to-"

"-yeah, save me from being carted off by Ross to god-knows where and probably locked up to be experimented on, but _I'll be fine_."

Tony stopped pacing and shook his head, "Fine? Really? Emergency field hearing and you're _fine_?! That's bullshit and we all know that. No, Bruce, this is not _fine_, and you're not facing this alone."

"What _Mr. Stark_ is saying," Maria quickly and smoothly cut in from where she perched on top of another couch that Sharon was sitting in across from Steve with a glare to Tony, "is that General Ross more than likely took a shot in the dark that you're here and happened to score. In the past few years since SHIELD had tailed you, Bruce, we've managed to fend off his requests as well as ones he made internationally for your extradition from the countries you were in. Fury wrote a secret roster for the Avengers Initiative with members that we wanted to recruit, but were not able to, members like you. He sent it to General Ross _after_ Tony here talked to him about making sure the Abomination stayed where he was under lock and key."

"How come I didn't see this list? I thought I was your consultant-"

"Handing you all of the potential personal profiles wasn't on your contract, Stark," Maria shot him a dry look, "not until the Chitauri invaded anyways."

"And how about the others-"

"We can't protect them anymore," Maria's dry tone became a little sharper and more brittle and Tony managed to look a little chagrined. She cleared her throat and looked at Bruce once more, "What I'm saying is that I'll be going with you to the field hearing. Bit of experience dealing with Congress recently and also ensuring that you are Stark Industries personnel, a highly valued and _visible_ member of the Avengers and so forth. They are not going to lead you out of the hearing in chains, Doctor."

"Exactly which is why JARVIS, call the lawyers in town-"

"No lawyers, Tony," Hill shook her head, "you send in your army of lawyers and the people at the hearing will get defensive. They will think you have something to hide and that's not the image I want to present to them."

"But-"

"I'm not the best lawyer, but I've had recent experience with Congressional panels and their questions. They want the truth, or at least a version of it and while I'm sure General Ross will be on the panel and may stack it in his favor, there's always one or two members in there who are the dissenting opinion or have not formed one at all. These are the ones who try to ask the different questions-"

"Didn't seem to go that way when I got my subpoena and Stern was an asshole," Tony groused under his breath and Hill shook her head again, a crooked smile on her lips.

"You're your own lawyer, Stark," she said and Steve had to agree with the sentiment. After Senator Stern had been arrested for being a member of HYDRA, the news outlets had shown multiple showings of Tony's congressional hearing with the Senator where he had all but shown up the ex-Senator and ex-weapons developer Justin Hammer. It was pretty impressive bravado that Steve had expected when someone angered Tony.

"As I was saying," Hill continued, "the questions will be pointed and direct, but it'll be up to the two of us to spin this for the media's benefit. It's the media and public you're going to convince. Not General Ross, not anyone else on the panel. If some of them are convinced, then that's fine, but currently public opinion of the Avengers is pretty high and some General trying to take out one of the members is not going to play well."

"Oh, I can do press release-"

"No Stark," Hill shook her head, "not to the American media. Overseas, yes, but not here."

Steve immediately realized what Maria's angle was in all of this. At the same time he also realized she had learned _a lot _being Director Fury's second-in-command and sneakiness did not even begin to cover what she was capable of. He understood what she was saying and hated the implications in her plan, but at the same time also knew that he needed to give Bucky some distance, especially after what he had seen from the archival footage.

"What...?" Tony looked a little confused before Steve spoke up quietly.

"Baron von Strucker," he said and the confusion melted from Tony's face. "We need to get Strucker before Bucky takes him out."

Maria nodded once confirming his words, "Coulson's got a tentative plan forming. The business conference ends with an extravagant gala of sorts, not exactly invite only, but a good place for deals to be sealed and alliances formed."

"Maybe I shouldn't have given Barnes the passport and money?" Tony scratched the back of his head.

"It didn't matter. Either way, Sergeant Barnes would have figured it out sooner or later when Steve finished the sketch," Hill looked nonplussed, "but if Tony Stark were to attend the gala-"

"-saying how great Dr. Bruce Banner's contributions to society are during the red carpet walk – there's a red carpet right?"

"Red carpet," Maria confirmed dryly.

"-and maybe drop hints that Strucker is the asshole behind the camera and some HYDRA brainwashing that we don't really know about-"

"The public will be more focused on Strucker than on Dr. Banner and either way, won't care about the General's attempt lynch Doc Banner here," Sam finished for her, perched on the spine of the couch Steve was sitting on. He whistled, "Geez Agent Hill, that's...pretty sharp. And scary. Mostly sharp, but still scary."

"And what if Sergeant Barnes assassinates the Baron?" Sharon asked, her voice hard and Steve winced at the harshness of her tone. He knew that she did not like Bucky, did not like the Winter Soldier, but at the same time tried to force himself not to react defensively to her biting tone.

"It will at least give some media exposure to Bucky that he's a victim of HYDRA's machinations," Steve replied quietly, staring at mostly nothing, but noting out of the corner of his eyes that everyone had turned to stare at him.

"Steve, you can't believe-"

"Playing all the angles, right?" he grimaced as he stared at Maria who nodded solemnly before looking at the others, "USO days..." He left it at that as he fell silent, hating what he had just said, and mostly himself for saying it. But he also knew that it had to be said.

It was after Peggy had asked if he only had two options to be a lab rat or a performing monkey that he began to see the different angles in the war. Senator Brandt's offering of him becoming a chorus girl, so to speak, was one angle, one where there was money being raised for the troops by selling war bonds, yes, but that money was still rationed heavily and troops out on the front lines barely saw some of the finer equipment developed and had to make do with what they had or scrounge for field equipment. He thought he had understood what it meant to be a symbol, to be _Captain America_, but after rescuing the 107th, Bucky, and others from the HYDRA facility and forming the Commandos, he had really understood what it meant – playing yet another angle. Granted, it was not as sinister or morally grey as the angles SHIELD played, more morale inspiring and the like, it was still an angle, a grey area that he had learned very well during the war and after he had woken up from the ice.

"But Bucky isn't a victim, he's a survivor," he finished more softly, "like all of us." While the media mostly left them alone while they inhabited the Tower, Steve knew that he was always filmed whenever he went out in public, even for his jogs. In the day and age of smartphone technology and blurry lines of what it meant to be in the media, or even a journalist, the actions of a famous person would sooner make headlines before the action was even completed. He had never done a search for himself on any of the social media sites, and really did not want to, but he had no doubts that his morning jog, or even some of the Avengers' fights were on youtube or Vine, or whatever the young crowd these days took in their news.

Bucky coming to the Tower had been a calculated risk and Steve knew that sooner or later, even without HYDRA coming after him, his best friend's face was going to end up plastered on some website, especially with his distinctive arm. Perhaps that was why HYDRA had created the arm to be bright, silver, and have a red star – to show to anyone and everyone who survived his attacks that he was the most visible _ghost_ of an assassin. The news chopper hovering over their brief fight on the causeway of D.C. a little over a year ago must have shown some inkling of the Winter Soldier, of his distinctive silvery arm.

Steve was not naïve to know that _when_, not if, but when the Winter Soldier was revealed to the public, there would be governments, countries, everyone that he had killed in that folder of (24) confirmed kills – and not counting collateral damage – demanding his head. Judging by what he knew of the media, and a little bit of how Brock Rumlow had paused in executing him, Natasha, and Sam in broad daylight a little over a year ago on the causeway; putting Strucker in the spotlight and showing that Bucky had been manipulated to take lives, maybe, maybe it would garner a bit of sympathy in the public eye. Bucky's war hero status as a Commando would help, and public opinion on the Avengers was high. If the American public was persuaded to help a war vet, maybe it could tie up some of the legal extradition laws if the other countries went after Bucky. It would certainly continue to expose HYDRA for the murderous organization it was-

He grimaced and shook his head. He was being selfish, wanting to make sure Bucky was not put in prison or even arrested for his crimes – and noted the irony of his thoughts running parallel to the lack of punishment Loki had received after what he had done in New York and New Mexico.

But this was _Bucky_. This was his best friend.

"So then why not go to Austria if we know now that Strucker is the guy?" Tony was asking as he focused back on the discussion.

"We don't know that," Sam spoke up from where he sat, shaking his head, "we only know that Barnes here has waking dreams about him. Who or what Strucker is to HYDRA and to him is still an unknown quantity. The fact that he had an adverse reaction to his face does show that there is something hostile involved, but we don't know much aside from what files we were able to dig up about Strucker. Maybe he was a middle man and had given Barnes to Pierce way back when, maybe it was a negotiation thing with Pierce after we were supposed to be dead. We know he's a businessman, and we know there's a few offices in Austria, but we don't have the intel we need to go there."

"What kind of business?" Tony glanced over to Maria who folded her arms across her chest.

"Not weapons tech," she shook her head, "found some of the older takeover forms you had drafted up to absorb whatever Extremis tech and AIM tech. Used to have sub-contracts with AIM, which is why he's at the conference. When you took out Killian, his company nearly went under. I'm guessing they're still recovering."

Tony shrugged, "Fair enough."

"Something to do with biomechanics," Maria continued, "I'll forward the details to you before you arrive in London."

"I take it quinjet is probably a no then," Tony looked thoughtful, "well, at least Pepper'll be happy that the private jet is getting some mileage."

"Steve," Maria turned to him, "unfortunately at this stage of planning for the op, your presence there is going to provoke Strucker, especially with Tony there already, so you're going to have to play support-"

"Actually," Steve interrupted, "I was thinking of going to the field hearing with Bruce." He had realized that even if he wanted Bucky to not be imprisoned for all that he had done as the Winter Soldier, he could not be hypocritical and not extend the same courtesy to his teammates, especially since Bruce had not even asked for anything in return since Bucky's arrival. Natasha's hearing with Congress had been effective, given her reputation, but he knew that Bruce' hearing was going to be a little more tricky. The emergency field hearing was in New York and the last time Bruce had been in New York, he had in his own words, 'broke Harlem.' Ross was more than likely thinking of how public opinion, especially in the most populous city in the United States was going to go against Bruce.

Captain America's presence would counter that.

"Uh, Steve-"

"I'm your commanding officer, son," he gave Bruce the full-force of his stern look for a few seconds and saw the other man blink in surprise before sheepishly nodding.

"Wow, remind me never to get you pissed, Cap," Tony grinned from where he was and Steve rolled his eyes at the remark.

"He does that, you know," Sam looked liked he was trying to hide a smile behind his crossed arms, but utterly failed at it, "don't argue with Cap. He'll win any argument, Doc. Oh, and I'll probably head over with you Tony, if that's fine. At least I be your backup in case Strucker gets spooked and runs for it during the op. Got a few more vacation days I can use up from the VA."

"I'll coordinate logistics from here while you are at the hearing if you don't mind, Agent Hill?" Sharon spoke up before shrugging, "CIA didn't like me going off-site and reappearing in New York. I'm kind of stuck in the city until someone decides whether I get an official transfer or not."

"Sorry," Steve dropped the look he had given Bruce and frowned,

but Sharon shook her head.

"You don't get to say 'sorry'. I _chose_ to help," she chided him gently, "besides, now they know I work with the Avengers. Don't worry your secret of snoring into a plush teddy bear is safe with me Mr. Stark, CIA will never know that."

"Hey, that bear is a keepsake..." Tony sounded offended, but grinned at her joke, "all right, JARVIS, set up all of the usual bells and whistles about going to London for this business conference. Let Pepper know it's about Strucker so she can spin it in our favor when we land and...let's see, about 6am, traffic's going to be hell...whatever, gonna fly to the airport in the suit. Falcon, let's put those wings of yours to the test-"

"Clothing-"

"Don't worry, I've got a flat in London, Paddington area, really nice, and I'll have JARVIS order a few items for you. Just grab your passport, phone..." Tony stood up and started to walk away with Sam reluctantly following behind him as he made plans to head out to London. The others took it as their cue to disperse and Steve saw Bruce walk over from where he had been leaning against the bar. Sharon and Maria headed towards the elevator, no doubt for Maria to explain what Sharon would be doing while she helped on the logistical side.

"Thanks, Steve," Bruce said, his voice quiet, almost shy and Steve smiled.

"Like I said, I'm your commanding officer and I certainly won't let some hell-bent General take apart my team," he shrugged before adding even more quietly, "and it's the least I could do for all that you've done for Bucky."

"No, you don't get to make me feel guilty or anything," Bruce laughed lightly, "and no, Bucky does not become part of the equation. I would have helped him in any way I can no questions asked. He'll come back, Steve. Even though he's gone after Strucker, he'll come back, after all of this is over. I talked with him and he's definitely remembering bits and pieces. He's fighting the programming and he wants to know why they did what they did to him."

Steve nodded; the unspoken 'I know' hung in the air as he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath and let it out. "I'll follow him, but right now, we've got a record to set straight."

"I feel like I should have joined the army or something, 'oo-rah,' something like that," Bruce said as the two of them headed towards the elevators and downstairs to Maria's floor.

Steve's laugh was long, loud, and contained a lot of needed relief in it.

* * *

He could see the TSA officer looking him with something akin to dubiousness in his gaze, but ignored it as he took back the planet ticket, passport, and medical forms he had handed over. The officer's gaze had lingered on his covered metal arm, the only hints that it was metal shown in fingerless gloves he had found in the room he was in at Stark Tower. He also knew that he was wearing a long-sleeved hoodie when it was a bit humid from the warm air blowing in from the constantly opening and closing doors of the Arrival section of the airport. Almost everyone else in the security line was wearing a form of short sleeves, though most still wore long pants.

"Lane two and three are open," the officer said, "please keep your medical form out for a pat down and let the officer know that you don't want to remove your outer clothing due to scarring. Next!"

He moved past the TSA agent and headed to the open line, giving the officer standing in between two scatterback machines his passport, medical forms, and ticket. The officer glanced at the forms before waving over another officer before gesturing for him to stand to the side.

"Do you have any bags or carry-ons that are yours?" the officer than approached had a friendly face, but he could tell instantly that this man was very well trained at his job. It was an effort on his part to shake his head a negative and not react to the danger the man exuded. A few of the other TSA officers also exuded the same presence, and he did not blame them. The heightened sense of security that had risen in wake of the fall of SHIELD meant that many in the government more than likely underwent additional training.

His skill set allowed him to blend in easily with crowds whenever he finished with a kill, concealing his highly visible silver arm and so he fell back on it, forcing himself to adopt a nonchalant look.

"You look a little tired, Mr. de Pietro," the officer said as he pointed to his arms to hold them out to a 'T'.

"Early morning," he replied quietly, "coffee is in order."

"Understood," the officer smiled congenially, "I would like to ask you to take your jacket off-"

"Scar tissue," he replied shortly and the officer nodded once.

"I understand," he had a kind voice, but sharp eyes as he started to pat him down, "prototype for Stark Industries?"

"Tony Stark said it was a new line for veterans," the pat down felt intimately invasive, and he tried to suppress the urge to snap the man's neck, but it was hard. He had seen some of the footage of what had been done to him; had watched it like an impartial third party while he had thought he could still feel the phantom pain, the whine of machinery and metal, screams that made him dry swallow so many times- Needles, the cut of a knife-

"Might want to tell your doctor or write a letter to Stark himself that if he wants to make more, don't do it with metal. Gonna have a hell of a time with wounded vets already getting through TSA. Maybe some plastic polymer?" the officer suggested and just when he thought he could not stand the pat-down anymore, the officer stepped away and wiped his gloves on a cotton-like pad. "You can put your arms down. Give me a second to run this through the scanner."

With that the officer left him, and he let out a shaky breath underneath his mild-looking facade. He could still feel eyes on him and looked around, seemingly taking in the vastness of the international terminal for Delta that was beyond the security checkpoint. It was somewhat quiet, many travelers still in the process of waking up or adjusting their sleep schedules. The high pitched giggles of children echoed once or twice only to be shushed immediately by tired or concerned parents.

"You're all set Mr. de Pietro, have a safe flight and thank you for your service," he turned as he heard the officer approaching him again and handed him passport, ticket, and forms. He pocked them immediately, feeling a little odd at those last words before heading away from the security checkpoint and into the terminal proper.

His flight was in roughly an hour boarding began in half an hour. A quick glance at the terminal map pointed him in the direction of a sit-down restaurant and he immediately took a seat at the bar, the most tactical spot in an open floor seating plan. It was near the television, near several long-necked bottles which he could use in lieu of not having any sort of weaponry on him that was bladed or blunted. It also served as a temporary hiding spot should anyone come with guns blazing and most of all, provided a rear-entrance exit into the bowels of JFK.

"What can I get you?" the cheerful voice of the waitress behind the closed bar with the nameplate of [Jen], made him glance down at the sparse morning menu and and pointed wordlessly at one of the choices that at least said eggs in it.

"Good choice, it's one of our more popular ones with international travelers," the waitress smiled a little, "want anything to drink?"

"Coffee," he said before tacking on the belated, "please."

"Sure thing," she replied before leaving to fill his order.

He had eaten just hours ago, a plate of two sandwiches left by his door by probably Rogers, but was feeling hungry again and knew that the sandwiches had burned through him quickly. His food options since he had stayed at the Tower were varied and he had only eaten when his body had pushed at him for the need to eat. Stark had given him free run of the kitchenette in the common area, but he had not been inclined to make or do anything, not exactly sure how most of the fancy gleaming machinery worked. To that end, though, he had taken to drinking the brewed coffee, careful to not completely empty the pot. Rogers, when he was not sketching had sometimes made food and offered it to him, but he had not eaten it. The first two times that had happened it had come with a lecture about their mutually shared super soldier metabolism and caloric intakes with Rogers suspecting that his may have been a bit lower, but still burning at a fast rate. It was how he learned the quickest and easiest protein intake was through eggs.

The pain in his head had dulled to a manageable level, his distance away from Rogers giving him a hint of relief, but also making him feel oddly displaced, like he was missing something from a whole he did not know he had.

"Oh, would you look at that," the waitress returned with a mug, and a plate of the food he had ordered. She set the mug down and poured coffee in it before sliding over a small ceramic square full of different types of sugar. He reached out and took the salt shaker instead and poured a bit into his mug before stirring it.

"Huh, Navy boy?"

"Army," he replied quietly. At least that was what he had gotten from Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes' file in the Smithsonian. The flashes of memories certainly seemed to confirm that he was Barnes, in some way or shape, but the name still did not exactly register with him when others spoke it; exception being when Rogers called him 'Bucky' or when Banner had snapped him out of his fugue state with his insistently eerie calm 'James!'.

"Well, thank you for your service, sir," the waitress smiled before looking back up at the television, "wish I could say the same to Captain America himself because the guy really deserves that thanks, but hey, he's on screen right now-what? Senatorial emergency field hearing for Dr. Banner – hey Nancy! Your favorite Avenger's just made the morning headlines!"

He glanced up at the television and felt the brief spike of pain at the image of Agent Hill, the targ-Rogers, and Banner all walking up what looked like the stairs to the New York City Supreme Court across from Foley Square on Centre Street. He also noted the abrupt rise in volume at the other patrons and those walking in the terminals as some started to crowded around television and read the topical headline scrolling across the screen. [Avengers Subpoenaed To Appear In Court] The secondary headline on the bottom of the topic bar said [Emergency Congressional Field Hearing Called To Discuss Safety of Hulk].

"Hulk's not a threat, that's bullshit," another woman's voice spoke up near him and out of the corner of his eye, he made note that the new waitress' nameplate said [Nancy]. "Yeah, sure he kind of rolled on Harlem, but he totally trashed the aliens along with Cap himself! Cap saved me even while we had been trapped in the atrium on 42nd and Madison."

He noted that she was looking around at the rest of the restaurant, almost daring anyone to contradict what she was saying, but more than a few nodded as his waitress, Jen, reached for a remote to turn the volume up a little. He absently started into his food and ate while listening to the clinical report being said on the television.

"-again, breaking news; media sources are reporting that this emergency congressional field hearing is being held due to what has happened in Washington D.C. a few nights ago. As you may remember, we received grainy footage of what appeared to be a fight involving some of the Avengers at a local bank near Dupont Circle where five civilians were critically wounded and at least eight responding officers killed."

A side-by-side live footage of Rogers, Hill, and Banner walking up the steps, pushing the throng of media away as Rogers and Hill kept Banner in the middle was interposed with grainy mobile phone video of the battle in the D.C. Bank. It showed Iron Man flying in the air firing several repulsor shots before the image showed the blur of Rogers in his red-white-blue uniform fighting someone with flashes of silver before he tackled him to the ground as the Hulk burst out from the bank and roared, making the camera shake.

"We have received unconfirmed reports that General Thaddeus Ross was the one who asked for this emergency field hearing. As you may know, General Ross was once the head of an attempt to bring about the super soldier program. We are trying to get a statement from Captain Rogers himself on his opinion of another super soldier program that failed-"

Rogers, dressed in full uniform was shown taking his shield off to give to a security officer before allowing himself to be scanned quickly by a handheld metal detector and waved through. The guard that had held onto his shield looked a little nervous, unsure if he should keep the shield or hand it back, but seemed to have decided to hand it over to Rogers with some whispered words and a quick salute to which Rogers returned with a kind smile.

_He marveled at how Steve boosted morale each time their unit was sent to work with others out on the field. The others in the Commandos had joking first referred it to Steve's showgirling abilities, but he knew better. Steve was a born leader and it was times like these that he knew he would follow him to hell and back. His best friend had an understated kindness as he always took the time to talk to the other men, even those wounded. He could see the change in their eyes, their willingness to keep hope when they had all been downtrodden and bitter at how the war was going._

The cameras had focused on the guard who Rogers had talked to and one or two microphones had been shoved into his face, but the guard had shaken his head before stepping back, declining to comment, as Agent Hill and Dr. Banner were waved through. And somehow, he knew that it was what Rogers always did; personal words spoken in privacy and the recipient unwilling to share or confide those words.

"We'll get back to the hearing after we have our cameras in there, but for now we have our political analyst here to discuss what this means for the Avengers, for former members of SHIELD like Maria Hill working for the Avengers-"

He tuned out the analyst segment as he continued to eat, pretty certain the foreign feeling that felt a little like pride, or something close to it, not from the coffee or hot food.

* * *

Steve lowered his right hand as he, Bruce, and Maria finished swearing into the session and took his seat, setting his helmet to his left as the two of them flanked Bruce at the table before the field hearing committee. His shield sat next to him, leaning against the table. General Ross was not quite sitting in the middle, but nor was he sitting at the edges. A hard-nosed Senator name Brandt sat in the middle and he vaguely wondered if this Brandt was related to the same Brandt who had drafted him to work on the USO tours. There were a few other military personnel, one at least from the other branches of service, but a majority of them were Army. Filling out the rest of the panel were senators whom Steve did not recognize.

If there was one thing he had been immensely grateful for, it was that Fury had kept away all of the political personnel from him since he had woken up from the ice. Granted he had to shake hands on occasion and had to meet a few when he officially got his honorable discharge papers after joining SHIELD proper – still unofficially retaining his rank in SHIELD's databases – but Fury kept a majority of them away from him.

"This hearing was brought forth by General Thaddeus Ross to investigate the illegal seizure of government property by Stark Industries-"

"Pardon my interruption Senator, but there was no such notation on the subpoena handed to our offices this morning of such seizure," Maria cut in smoothly and professionally.

"The address of the subpoena does denote the government property that was seized," Senator Brandt replied testily, "and I ask that you please not further interrupt until asked, Ms. Hill. We are all well aware of your recent hearings in Washington D.C. for SHIELD and this whole HYDRA debacle."

"Understood," Maria replied sweetly, but Steve could see the viper's grin in her smile as she sat back in her chair.

"As I was saying. This hearing is for the illegal seizure of government property and the United States Army's request to retrieve such property for purposes of national security. Now then, Ms. Hill, we understand that Stark Industries has had previous contracts with the United States military and access to some secrets that may have enabled Stark Industries to acquire a few assets on the side to further research. But those contracts have long expired and such government property much be returned."

"I take it you're not talking about Mr. Stark's Iron Man suits, right? Because, well, that kind of didn't go so well for the last Senator who tried to take the suits away. In fact, he got arrested for being a HYDRA mole," Maria said dryly to the chuckles of those in the gallery and Steve managed to keep a stoic expression on his face. He had not know that she had such a dry humorous streak, but he supposed that he had only seen one side of Maria Hill and that was her no-nonsense SHIELD persona.

"Are you implying-" Brandt had gone a bit red-faced while Maria shook her head.

"Not at all, Senator, merely making sure this is not about Tony Stark and is, after all, about a living human being named Dr. Bruce Banner whom you keep insisting as _government property _like he is some kind of inanimate object."

Steve resolutely kept his face still at the sudden swooping anger that filled him. He had been a little confused at the Senator's opening remarks about government property and the like before Maria's words made him realize that he had been talking about Bruce. And making Bruce sound like something that was to be passed around without a care. It seemed that the rest of the gallery also came to that realization as the rapid clicks of cameras tried to catch photos of everyone's reactions and the people themselves had hushed whispers.

"That statement is true," General Ross took over for the Senator and Steve stared at him, white-haired, bushy mustached, and an angry disposition written all over his face. He had heard that the General had steadily risen his way up the ranks after starting his service in Vietnam before given control of one of the Army's scientific divisions that had tried to replicate the super soldier serum. "Dr. Bruce Banner is government property. His blood is holding highly classified materials and _radioactivity_ that makes him a danger to those around him. He has already killed several civilians and military personnel as well as endangered countless of others in highly volatile situations."

There were a few murmurs of agreement from the gallery behind him, and Steve could see the small satisfied smile on the General's face as well as some of the other military personnel in the room.

Maria nodded before commandeering the microphone, "An apt statement, very much like the files that SHIELD used to have on Dr. Banner. I'm sure a search of those files would say the same thing." The gallery twittered behind them and Steve could imagine a lot of them already accessing their mobile phones – even though hearing rules allowed no cellphones – to search for the SHIELD file dump on that very subject.

"During your time with SHIELD, you brought in Dr. Banner to work for you, am I correct, Ms. Hill?" another senator spoke up and Maria nodded.

"Yes, the emergency crisis with Loki dictated that an expert in gamma radiation be brought in to consult. Dr. Banner proved immensely helpful with the algorithm he created with Mr. Stark. Director Fury promised that SHIELD would not search for the good doctor in the aftermath."

"Surely you had inklings that Dr. Banner was working for Stark Industries after the battle in New York. After all, wasn't Howard Stark one of SHIELD's vaunted founders? Perhaps it was really HYDRA underneath it all-"

"Senator Ryan, I think we are leaving the topic and that is of Dr. Banner," Senator Brandt stepped in and held up a hand to his fellow Senator who nodded and sat back, but the damage was already done. "Ms. Hill, you have anything to add?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir," Maria smiled toothily, but Steve instead paid attention to Brandt. He seemed like a hard-ass in his opinion, but his cutting of the Senator's inflammatory statements and focusing back on the topic at hand seemed like it was to at least moderate the whole field hearing. Maybe he was not as opinionated and set in his ways as he had originally thought.

"Dr. Banner's contributions has been invaluable, both to crises around the world and to the scientific community itself. He is a cautionary tale to those who wish to replicate the super soldier serum, but at the same time an exemplary tale of kindness and understated compassion to those who are less fortunate than himself," Hill stated, "Stark Industries' medical component was able to isolate the health benefits of the Extremis virus instead of turning it into a weaponized component when it was first developed by Advanced Idea Mechanics; something that could not have been done without Dr. Banner's achievements in the field of molecular biochemistry. While there is still much testing to be done, I am proud to say that Dr. Banner thinks Stark Industries would be able to help our fellow veterans regain far greater mobility than current technology within the next few years."

Steve refused to let the surprise show on his face at the news and caught Bruce's eye who minutely shrugged. He instantly realized that it was perhaps a joint effort between him and Tony before seeing two of Bruce's fingers semaphore out the letters 'L-O-K-I' and realized that there were plans; but it was mainly due to the healing stones and whatever poisonous magick Loki had sussed out two years ago for Maria to say what she said.

"How do we know Stark Industries isn't going to create Extremis soldiers like AIM did?" one general from the Air Force spoke up, her voice concerned, but not gruff.

"I would think AIM's kidnapping of Stark Industries' CEO would have been a deterrent," Maria shot back a bit dryly, "and this question is better directed to Colonel James Rhodes as he is overseeing this project having first hand knowledge about the Extremis soldiers and was responsible for the arresting of Trevor Slattery as well as the rescuing of President Ellis."

The gallery behind them murmured their approval and Steve suppressed the small smile that threatened to appear on his face. SHIELD knew of Tony's involvement in the kerfuffle with AIM and the true Mandarin, Aldrich Killian, but the public at large only heard that Tony's best friend Rhodey had been involved since Tony had been sort of still declared dead in the aftermath. It was only after his successful surgery to remove the shrapnel from his chest that he had himself not declared dead – using the excuse of surgery for his non-involvement.

"You say he is a cautionary tale against those who wished to replicate the super soldier serum, Ms. Hill," General Ross spoke up, "so even you must know the dangerous qualities of his blood, radioactive and poisonous to anyone who even touches it or gets near it, the constant stressful situations that makes him into...a liability."

There were clicks of cameras as the reporters around them whispered amongst themselves and Steve saw Bruce quirk up a crooked smile sardonically.

"Yes, I do," Maria leaned forward into the microphone, "was there an inquiry to your statement?" Steve willfully suppressed another grin that threatened to appear on his face, especially since Ross frowned.

"Should this not be grounds for containment-"

"Why?" Maria interrupted.

"I believe I am asking the questions here Ms. Hill-"

"If you're asking whether or not Dr. Banner here should be locked up just because his blood can make people sick, that he occasionally sometimes turns into an unstoppable green-rage-monster – you can thank Tony Stark for that name – because of _people hunting him like an animal_ and has literally done _nothing_ to endure the hate and vitriol also because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time for an experiment that _you_, General Ross, sir, approved with _federal funding_, then no. I do not think he should be contained."

Ross' face turned a little redder, verging on purple before Brandt put a hand on his own to stop him from saying anything and nodded towards Bruce, "Dr. Banner, Ms. Hill has been a valiant champion for you, do you wish to add anything?"

Bruce cleared his throat and sat forward, "Nothing really, except to personally apologize to the General. I know...it's probably not enough, but I'm truly sorry."

The gallery burst into puzzled murmurs as everyone looked at General Ross who looked like he was about to eat his microphone as he visibly grounded his teeth. After what seemed like a minute of consideration the General leaned forward and spit out his next words. "You should have thought of that before all of this."

Bruce only smiled a sad-looking smile and nodded as he accepted the words without flinching. Steve was not too sure about what they were talking about before the memory of a name and pretty face passed through his mind. _Dr. Elizabeth 'Betty' Ross_. When Fury had given him the packet for Dr. Banner for him to read on his way to the Helicarrier three years ago, he had not exactly paid attention to the notation of Dr. Ross under General Ross' project with Bruce to recreate the super soldier serum. He had only briefly met Dr. Ross two years ago when Loki had warned them of the coterie's plans to attack their loved ones. He had been laid up in the medical ward and had been unable to go with the others on the rescue missions. Even living at the Tower for the past year, Bruce had been very private about his life and Steve was too polite to inquire.

Now, he realized that it was very personal between General Ross and Bruce. That something had happened during the experiment to Dr. Ross that had torn a gaping rift between the two of them. The General was not only after Bruce because of the Hulk, but because of a personal grudge against him.

"Ms. Hill, do you wish to add anything in regards to this hearing?" Senator Brandt spoke up.

"Yes, only one statement: You are making a mistake if you think to arrest Dr. Banner and detain him, and I'm not talking about SHIELD, HYDRA, Stark Industries, or even the Hulk whom you all seem to fear more than the Major Emil Blonsky, better known as the Abomination – who, by the way, really did destroy Harlem, not the Hulk."

"Indeed..." Brandt looked nonplussed, before opening his mouth once more, "then we will adjourn-"

"Sir," Steve spoke up as he realized that Ross and the Senator had already made their decisions. He had also realized that they did not realize how much of an impassioned speech Hill had spoken to turn the tide of the public against them. They wanted to adjourn the inquiry to do some public damage control and he was not about to let them get away with bullying Bruce to the media. "If I may add something before you call this hearing?"

This time there was a more visible and interested reaction behind Steve as he ignored the flash of cameras, the almost hungry-look the reporters covering the hearing looked. Senator Brandt and General Ross both looked flat-footed, but Brandt smiled blandly and nodded, knowing the consequences of denying him the request to speak – he was, after all Captain America. He slowly stood up consciously standing at parade rest, aware that all eyes were on him.

"It was not my intention to speak today, after all, I am here for Dr. Banner's support as his friend, not as his commanding officer," he picked his words carefully, "but it seems to me that you wish to lock him up because he is government property, right?"

"...Yes..." Brandt was staring at him shrewdly, picking his own words carefully.

"The first thing said to me by my commanding officer, Colonel Phillips, after I failed to stop the HYDRA spy from killing Dr. Erskine, was that I should be locked up somewhere like a lab rat because I was government property and have tests run on me. He wanted a hundred more of me and I was the only success," it was something he had never seen published, not even spoken by Peggy in the interviews that she had given over the years. It was also something he had suspected Phillips deeply regretted judging by his interviews during the time he was on ice. "A kind Senator, by the name of Thomas Brandt, thought I could have been better serving my country on USO tours instead of being stuck in a lab." He met the Senator's gaze and saw the recognition and slight chagrin on the current Senator Brandt's face and knew that this one was related to the Brandt he had known back in the war.

The hushed murmurs were growing in volume, but no one seemed to want to stop them, all of them hearing the story of how Steve Rogers, right after being super-soldier'ed almost became a lab rat and instead became what they had known in the biographies, a USO showgirl before launching his rescue of the 107th and other battalions.

"So," Steve kept his voice and gaze steady as he stared at both Ross and Brandt, "what I am saying is that even though you have given me an honorable discharge, you may recall me to active service to serve my country. If you truly wish for the super soldier serum, I am willing to serve my country and perform all of the tests you wish me to do. Maybe that will give you your needed results and there won't be anymore people scrambling for the serum."

The room erupted in loud shouts and Steve felt the burning startled gazes of both Bruce and Maria on him.

"Steve-!"

"What the hell are you-"

Senator Brandt immediately started banging a gavel onto the table as the room slowly quieted down before glaring at him. Steve met that glare with an equally placid gaze of his own, keeping his back ramrod straight and standing at attention instead of parade rest. "I don't know what the hell you're playing at _Captain_, but we have laws against this type of indentured servitude that you seem to think is back from before the Civil War-"

"No sir," he cut the Senator off firmly, "I am volunteering."

"If this is some kind of stunt..."

"No sir," he shook his head once, "this is not a stunt. I was once asked by Dr. Erskine why I volunteered and if it was because I wanted to kill Nazis. I did not want to kill anyone, but I told him I hated bullies."

The Senator's eyes darted around the panel as well as the gallery behind Steve that he could hear was quiet again, all hanging onto his words. No one missed the implications of his words, he was sure of that. He certainly knew that this was going to at least stay on the news for a while. He also knew that he had just told Bucky – if he was watching this at JFK or perhaps already flying in the air – that he would not readily pursue him, but let him do what he needed to do going after Strucker. If General Ross and Senator Brandt did take him up on his volunteerism, reinstated him back to the army to their scientific division, then it was the least he could do for Bruce and for Bucky.

He could feel something uneasy well up within him, watching the unreadable looks on their faces, but refused to let it show and kept his expression passive and firm.

The various other Senators and military personnel were looking at each other, coming to silent conclusions as both Brandt and Ross had stony expressions on their face. There was a few minutes of silent communication before Brandt nodded once, sharp, and cleared his throat. "Your honesty and self-sacrifice is admirable, Captain, but it is the decision of this panel as well as those in the Armed Forces that you have concluded your service to this country." The Senator paused for a moment, seemingly drawing upon his full authority – and perhaps for the nearly silent media crowded around the hearing, trying to salvage the situation. "All charges and inquiries to Dr. Bruce Banner's status will also be dropped in recognition of his service and contributions to the scientific community as well as the Avengers."

The gallery cheered and Steve blinked, feeling a wave of relief as he stoically nodded; almost drowning out the prickling feeling of something not right. Brandt however was not done as he slammed the gavel several more times.

"However, this panel also deems the danger of the Hulk as one of caution. Captain, as you had said, you were here for Dr. Banner as a friend, not as his commanding officer. But you are the Avengers' leader and so the responsibility falls upon you to ensure the safety of civilians and those caught in the crossfire of...bullies...from the Hulk's immeasurable strength and penchant for wanton destruction. I trust you will be discreet or else we will find ourselves back here again and your volunteerism taken in a far more serious matter."

"Yes sir," he automatically snapped off a salute, to which was returned by the military persons on the panel as the gallery cheered again and sat back down.

"This panel is adjourned," the Senator's voice was barely heard over the roar of cheers from the gallery, clicks of camera shutters, and reporters trying to clamor past the gate, to talk to the three of them, but were barely being held back by the security guards.

Steve smiled in relief as he met Bruce and Maria's gaze, but still could not shake the feeling of something not quite right. He looked around, keeping the smile on his face as Bruce and Maria frowned a little.

"Steve what's-"

Bruce never finished what he was saying as in that moment, Steve caught the eye of one of the guards in the far corner of the room, near one of the main exits, glowing a brilliant red, teeth bared in a deathly smile-

Steve immediately grabbed his shield and threw it towards the guard who was deliberately overloading herself from the Extremis virus, and knew it was too late-

The room exploded in a wash of fiery pain and horrific screams as he blacked out.


End file.
